THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Given  by 

Lee  Oetzel 


RIOMFOICAI  IIBRARY 

UNl\/|-R.S!fY  Of  r.AllFOHNlA 

ins  ANGfltS 


THE  WRITINGS  OF  JOHN  MUIR 

Sierra  ((Stittion 
VOLUME  U 


The  Yoiemite  Falls,  Yosemite  National  Park 


MY  FIKST  SUMMER  IN 
THE  SIEKKA 


BY 

JOHN  MUIR 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   191 1,  BY  JOHN  MUIR 
COPYRIGHT,  I916,  BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


TO 

THE  SIERRA  CLUB  OF  CALIFORNIA 

faithful  defender  of  the 

peoplk'3  playgrounds 


CONTENTS 

I.  TiraouGii  THE  Foothills  with  a  Flock  of 

Sheep 3 

II.  In  Camp  ON  THE  North  Fork  OF  THE  Merced  32 

III.  A  Bread  Famine 75 

IV.  To  THE  High  Mountains 8G 

V.  The  Yosemite 115 

VI.  Mount  Hoffman  and  Lake  Tenaya   .      .  149 

VII.  A  Strange  Experiencd 178 

VIII.  The  Mono  Trail 195 

IX.  Bloody  Canon  and  Mono  Lake   .      .      .  214 

X.  The  Tuolumne  Camp 232 

XI.  Back  to  the  Lowlands 254 

Index 265 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Yosemite  Falls,  Yosemite  National  Park 

Frontispiece 
The  total  height  of  the  three  falls  is  2600  feet. 
The  upper  fall  is  about  IGOO  feet,  and  the  lower 
about  400  feet.  Mr.  Muir  was  probably  the  only 
man  who  ever  looked  down  into  the  heart  of  the 
fall  from  the  narrow  ledge  of  rocks  near  the  top. 
From  a  photograph  by  Charles  S.  Olcott 

Sheep  in  the  Mountains 8 

Since  the  establishment  of  the  Yosemite  Na- 
tional Park  the  pasturing  of  sheep  has  not  been 
allowed  within  its  boundaries,  and  as  a  result  the 
grasses  and  wild  flowers  have  recovered  very 
much  of  their  former  luxuriance.  The  flock  of 
sheep  here  photographed  were  feeding  near  Al- 
ger Lake  on  the  slope  of  Blacktop  Mountain,  at 
an  altitude  of  about  10,000  feet  and  just  beyond 
the  eastern  boundary  of  the  Park. 

From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

A  Silver  Fir,  or  Red  Fir  (Abies  magnifica) .  .  90 
This  tree  was  found  in  an  extensive  forest  of  red 
fir  above  the  Middle  Fork  of  King's  River.  It  was 
estimated  to  be  about  250  feet  high.  Mr.  Muir, 
on  being  shown  the  photograph,  remarked  that 
it  was  one  of  the  finest  and  most  mature  speci- 
mens of  the  red  fir  that  he  had  ever  seen. 
From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

The  North  and  South  Domes 122 

The  great  rock  on  the  right  is  the  South  Dome, 
commonly  called  the  Half-Dome,  according  to 
Mr.  Muir  "the  most  beautiful  and  most  sublime 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

of  all  the  Yoscmitc  rocks."  The  one  on  the  left  is 
the  North  Dome,  while  in  the  center  is  the  Wash- 
ington Column. 

From  a  photograph  by  Charles  S.  Olcott 

Cathedral  Peak 154 

This  view  was  taken  from  a  point  on  the  Sunrise 
Trail  just  south  of  the  Peak,  on  a  day  when  the 
"cloud  mountains"  so  inspiring  to  Mr.  Muir 
were  much  in  evidence. 

From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

The  Vernal  Falls,  Yosemite  National  Park.   182 
From  a  photograph  by  Charles  S.  Olcott 

The  Happy  Isles,  Yosemite  National  Park    .   190 
This  is  the  main  stream  of  the  Merced  River 
after  passing  over  the  Nevada  and  Vernal  Falls 
and  receiving  the  lUilouette  tributary. 
From  a  photograph  by  Charles  S.  Olcott 

The  Three  Brothers,  Yosemite  National  Park  208 
The  highest  rock,  called  Eagle  Point,  is  7900  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  3900  feet  above  the  floor  of 
the  valley. 

From  a  photograph  by  Charles  S.  Olcott 

Map  of  the  Yosemite  National  Park  .      .      .  264 
From  the  United  States  Geological  Survey 

FROM  SKETCHES  MADE  BY  THE  AUTHOR 
IN  1869 

Horseshoe  Bend,  Merced  River      ....    14 

On  Second  Bench.  Edge  of  the  Main  Forest 
Belt,  above  Coulterville,  near  Greeley's 
Mill 14 

Camp,  North  Fork  of  the  Merced        ...    38 

Mountain  Live  Oak  (Quercus  chrysolepis) ,  Eight 
Feet  in  Diameter 38 


ILLUSTRATIONS 
Sugar  Pine 50 

Douglas  Squirrel  observing  Brother  Man     .    08 

Divide  between  the  Tuolumne  and  the  Merced, 
BELOW  Hazel  Green 80 

Track  of  Singing  Dancing  Grasshopper  in  the 
Air  over  North  Dome 140 

Abies  Magnifica  (Mount  Clark,  Top  of  South 
Dome,  Mount  Starr  King) 142 

Illustrating  Growth  of  New  Pine  from  Branch 
below  the  Break  of  Axis  of  Snow-Crushed 
Tree 144 

Approach  of  Dome  Creek  to  Yosemite      .      .  150 

Junipers  in  Tenaya  Canon 164 

View  of  Tenaya  Lake  showing  Cathedral  Peak  196 

One  op  the  Tributary  Fountains  of  the  Tuo- 
lumne Canon  Waters,  on  the  North  Side  of 
THE  Hoffman  Range 196 

Glacier  Meadow,  on  the  Headwaters  of  the 
Tuolumne,  9500  Feet  above  the  Sea  .      .      .  204 

Mono  Lake  and  Volcanic  Cones,  looking  South  228 

Highest  Mono  Volcanic  Cones  (Near  View)       .  228 

One  of  the  Highest  Mount  Ritter  Fountains  .  240 

Glacier  Meadow  strewn  with  Moraine  Boul- 
ders, 10,000  feet  above  the  Sea  (near  Mount 
Dana) 248 

Front  of  Cathedral  Peak 248 

View  of  Upper  Tuolumne  Valley         ,      ,      .  252 


MY  FIRST   SUMMER  IN  THE   SIERRA 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE 
SIERRA 

CHAPTER  I 

THROUGH  THE   FOOTHILLS   WITH   A   FLOCK   OF 
SHEEP 

In  the  great  Central  Valley  of  California 
there  are  only  two  seasons  —  spring  and  sum- 
mer. The  spring  begins  with  the  first  rain- 
storm, which  usually  falls  in  November.  In  a 
few  months  the  wonderful  flowery  vegetation 
is  in  full  bloom,  and  by  the  end  of  May  it  is 
dead  and  dry  and  crisp,  as  if  every  plant  had 
been  roasted  in  an  oven. 

Then  the  lolling,  panting  flocks  and  herds 
are  driven  to  the  high,  cool,  green  pastures  of 
the  Sierra.  I  was  longing  for  the  mountains 
about  this  time,  but  money  was  scarce  and  I 
could  n't  see  how  a  bread  supply  was  to  be  kept 
up.  ^Vhile  I  was  anxiously  brooding  on  the 
bread  problem,  so  troublesome  to  wanderers, 
and  trying  to  believe  that  I  might  learn  to  live 
like  the  wild  animals,  gleaning  nourishment 
here  and  there  from  seeds,  berries,  etc.,  saun- 
tering and  climbing  in  joyful   independence 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

of  money  or  baggage,  Mr.  Delaney,  a  sheep  - 
owner,  for  whoni  I  had  worked  a  few  weeks, 
called  on  me,  and  offered  to  engage  me  to  go 
with  his  shepherd  and  flock  to  the  headwaters 
of  the  Merced  and  Tuolumne  Rivers  —  the 
very  region  I  had  most  in  mind.  I  was  in  the 
mood  to  accept  work  of  any  kind  that  would 
take  me  into  the  mountains  whose  treasures  I 
had  tasted  last  summer  in  the  Yosemite  region. 
The  flock,  he  explained,  would  be  moved  grad- 
ually higher  through  the  successive  forest  belts 
as  the  snow  melted,  stopping  for  a  few  weeks 
at  the  best  places  we  came  to.  These  I  thought 
would  be  good  centers  of  observation  from 
which  I  might  be  able  to  make  many  telling 
excursions  within  a  radius  of  eight  or  ten  miles 
of  the  camps  to  learn  something  of  the  plants, 
animals,  and  rocks;  for  he  assured  me  that  I 
should  be  left  perfectly  free  to  follow  my  studies. 
I  judged,  however,  that  I  was  in  no  way  the 
right  man  for  the  place,  and  freely  explained 
my  shortcomings,  confessing  that  I  was  wholly 
unacquainted  with  the  topography  of  the  upper 
mountains,  the  streams  that  would  have  to  be 
crossed,  and  the  wild  sheep-eating  animals, 
etc.;  in  short  that,  what  with  bears,  coyotes, 
rivers,  caiions,  and  thorny,  bewildering  chap- 
arral, I  feared  that  half  or  more  of  his  flock 
would  be  lost.    Fortunately  these  shortcom- 

4 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

ings  seemed  insignificant  to  Mr.  Dclaney.  The 
main  thing,  he  said,  was  to  have  a  man  about 
the  camp  whom  he  could  trust  to  see  that  the 
shepherd  did  his  duty,  and  he  assured  me  that 
the  difficulties  that  seemed  so  formidable  at  a 
distance  would  vanish  as  we  went  on;  encourag- 
ing me  further  by  saying  that  the  shepherd 
would  do  all  the  herding,  that  I  could  study 
plants  and  rocks  and  scenery  as  much  as  I  liked, 
and  that  he  would  himself  accompany  us  to  the 
first  main  camp  and  make  occasional  visits  to 
our  higher  ones  to  replenish  our  store  of  pro- 
visions and  see  how  we  prospered.  Therefore 
I  concluded  to  go,  though  still  fearing,  when 
I  saw  the  silly  sheep  bouncing  one  by  one 
through  the  narrow  gate  of  the  home  corral  to 
be  counted,  that  of  the  two  thousand  and  fifty 
many  would  never  return. 

I  was  fortunate  in  getting  a  fine  St.  Bernard 
dog  for  a  companion.  His  master,  a  hunter 
with  whom  I  was  slightly  acquainted,  came  to 
me  as  soon  as  he  heard  that  I  was  going  to 
spend  the  summer  in  the  Sierra  and  begged  me 
to  take  his  favorite  dog.  Carlo,  with  me,  for  he 
feared  that  if  he  were  compelled  to  stay  all 
summer  on  the  plains  the  fierce  heat  might  be 
the  death  of  him.  "I  think  I  can  trust  you  to 
be  kind  to  him,"  he  said,  ''and  I  am  sure  he  will 
be  good  to  you.  He  knows  all  about  the  moun- 

5 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

tain  animals,  will  guard  the  camp,  assist  in 
managing  the  sheep,  and  in  every  way  be  found 
able  and  faithful."  Carlo  knew  we  were  talk- 
ing about  him,  watched  our  faces,  and  listened 
so  attentively  that  I  fancied  he  understood  us. 
Calling  him  by  name,  I  asked  him  if  he  was 
willing  to  go  with  me.  He  looked  me  in  the  face 
with  eyes  expressing  wonderful  intelligence, 
then  turned  to  his  master,  and  after  permis- 
sion was  given  by  a  wave  of  the  hand  toward 
me  and  a  farewell  patting  caress,  he  quietly 
followed  me  as  if  he  perfectly  understood  all 
that  had  been  said  and  had  known  me  always. 

June  3, 1869.  This  morning  provisions,  camp- 
kettles,  blankets,  plant-press,  etc.,  were  packed 
on  two  horses,  the  flock  headed  for  the  tawny 
foothills,  and  away  we  sauntered  in  a  cloud  of 
dust:  Mr.  Delaney,  bony  and  tall,  with  sharply 
hacked  profile  like  Don  Quixote,  leading  the 
pack-horses,  Billy,  the  proud  shepherd,  a  Chi- 
naman and  a  Digger  Indian  to  assist  in  driving 
for  the  first  few  days  in  the  brushy  foothills,  and 
myself  with  notebook  tied  to  my  belt. 

The  home  ranch  from  which  we  set  out  is 
on  the  south  side  of  the  Tuolumne  River  near 
French  Bar,  where  the  foothills  of  metamorphic 
gold-bearing  slates  dip  below  the  stratified  de- 
posits of  the  Central  Valley.  We  had  not  gone 

6 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

more  than  a  mile  before  some  of  the  old  lead- 
ers of  the  flock  showed  by  the  eager,  inquiring 
way  they  ran  and  looked  ahead  that  they  were 
thinking  of  the  high  pastures  they  had  enjoyed 
last  summer.  Soon  the  whole  flock  seemed  to 
be  hopefully  excited,  the  mothers  calling  their 
lambs,  the  lambs  replying  in  tones  wonderfully 
human,  their  fondly  quavering  calls  interrupted 
now  and  then  by  hastily  snatched  mouthfuls 
of  withered  grass.  Amid  all  this  seeming  babel 
of  baas  as  they  streamed  over  the  hills  every 
mother  and  child  recognized  each  other's  voice. 
In  case  a  tired  lamb,  half  asleep  in  the  smother- 
ing dust,  should  fail  to  answer,  its  mother  would 
come  running  back  through  the  flock  toward 
the  spot  whence  its  last  response  was  heard, 
and  refused  to  be  comforted  until  she  found  it, 
the  one  of  a  thousand,  though  to  our  eyes  and 
ears  all  seemed  aUke. 

The  flock  traveled  at  the  rate  of  about  a 
mile  an  hour,  outspread  in  the  form  of  an  ir- 
regular triangle,  about  a  hundred  yards  wide 
at  the  base,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  long, 
with  a  crooked,  ever-changing  point  made  up 
of  the  strongest  foragers,  called  the  "leaders," 
which,  with  the  most  active  of  those  scattered 
along  the  ragged  sides  of  the  "main  body," 
hastily  explored  nooks  in  the  rocks  and  bushes 
for  grass  and  leaves;  the  lambs  and  feeble  old 

7 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

mothers  dawdling  in  the  rear  were  called  the 
"tail  end." 

About  noon  the  heat  was  hard  to  bear;  the 
poor  sheep  panted  pitifully  and  tried  to  stop  in 
the  shade  of  every  tree  they  came  to,  while  we 
gazed  with  eager  longing  through  the  dim  burn- 
ing glare  toward  the  snowy  mountains  and 
streams,  though  not  one  was  in  sight.  The 
landscape  is  only  wavering  foothills  roughened 
here  and  there  with  bushes  and  trees  and  out- 
cropping masses  of  slate.  The  trees,  mostly 
the  blue  oak  {Quercus  Douglasii),  are  about 
thirty  to  forty  feet  high,  with  pale  blue-green 
leaves  and  white  bark,  sparsely  planted  on  the 
thinnest  soil  or  in  crevices  of  rocks  beyond  the 
reach  of  grass  fires.  The  slates  in  many  places 
rise  abruptly  through  the  tawny  grass  in  sharp 
lichen-covered  slabs  like  tombstones  in  deserted 
burying-grounds.  With  the  exception  of  the 
oak  and  four  or  five  species  of  manzanita  and 
ceanothus,  the  vegetation  of  the  foothills  is 
mostly  the  same  as  that  of  the  plains.  I  saw 
this  region  in  the  early  spring,  when  it  was  a 
charming  landscape  garden  full  of  birds  and 
bees  and  flowers.  Now  the  scorching  weather 
makes  everything  dreary.  The  ground  is  full  of 
cracks,  lizards  glide  about  on  the  rocks,  and 
ants  in  amazing  numbers,  whose  tiny  sparks 
of  life  only  burn  the  brighter  with  the  heat, 

8 


Sheep  in  the  Mountains 


^'.p 


THROUGH  THE   FOOTHILLS 

fairly  quiver  with  unquenchable  energy  as  they 
run  in  long  lines  to  fight  and  gather  food.  How 
it  comes  that  they  do  not  dry  to  a  crisp  in  a  few 
seconds'  exposure  to  such  sun-fire  is  marvelous. 
A  few  rattlesnakes  lie  coiled  in  out-of-the-way 
places,  but  are  seldom  seen.  Magpies  and 
crows,  usually  so  noisy,  are  silent  now,  stand- 
ing in  mixed  flocks  on  the  ground  beneath  the 
best  shade  trees,  with  bills  wide  open  and  wings 
drooped,  too  breathless  to  speak ;  the  quails  also 
are  trying  to  keep  in  the  shade  about  the  few 
tepid  alkaline  water-holes;  cottontail  rabbits 
are  running  from  shade  to  shade  among  the 
ceanothus  brush,  and  occasionally  the  long- 
eared  hare  is  seen  cantering  gracefully  across 
the  wider  openings. 

After  a  short  noon  rest  in  a  grove,  the  poor 
dust-choked  flock  was  again  driven  ahead  over 
the  brushy  hills,  but  the  dim  roadway  we  had 
been  following  faded  away  just  where  it  was 
most  needed,  compelling  us  to  stop  to  look 
about  us  and  get  our  bearings.  The  Chinaman 
seemed  to  think  we  were  lost,  and  chattered 
in  pidgin  English  concerning  the  abundance  of 
"litty  stick"  (chaparral),  while  the  Indian  si- 
lently scanned  the  billowy  ridges  and  gulches 
for  openings.  Pushing  through  the  thorny 
jungle,  we  at  length  discovered  a  road  trending 
toward  Coulterville,  which  we  followed  until 

0 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

an  hour  before  sunset,  when  we  reached  a  dry 
ranch  and  camped  for  the  night. 

Camping  in  the  foothills  with  a  flock  of 
sheep  is  simple  and  easy,  but  far  from  pleasant. 
The  sheep  were  allowed  to  pick  what  they 
could  find  in  the  neighborhood  until  after  sun- 
set, watched  by  the  shepherd,  while  the  others 
gathered  wood,  made  a  fire,  cooked,  unpacked 
and  fed  the  horses,  etc.  About  dusk  the  weary 
sheep  were  gathered  on  the  highest  open  spot 
near  camp,  where  they  willingly  bunched  close 
together,  and  after  each  mother  had  found  her 
lamb  and  suckled  it,  all  lay  down  and  required 
no  attention  until  morning. 

Supper  was  announced  by  the  call,  ''Grub!" 
Each  with  a  tin  plate  helped  himself  direct 
from  the  pots  and  pans  while  chatting  about 
such  camp  studies  as  sheep-feed,  mines,  coyo- 
tes, bears,  or  adventures  during  the  memorable 
gold  days  of  pay  dirt.  The  Indian  kept  in  the 
background,  saying  never  a  word,  as  if  he  be- 
longed to  another  species.  The  meal  finished, 
the  dogs  were  fed,  the  smokers  smoked  by  the 
fire,  and  under  the  influences  of  fullness  and 
tobacco  the  calm  that  settled  on  their  faces 
seemed  almost  divine,  something  like  the  mel- 
low meditative  glow  portrayed  on  the  counte- 
nances of  saints.  Then  suddenly,  as  if  awaken- 
ing from  a  dream,  each  with  a  sigh  or  a  grunt 
10 


TIIROTIGII  THE  FOOTHILLS 

knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  yawned, 
gazed  at  the  fire  a  few  moments,  said,  "Well, 
I  believe  I'll  turn  in,"  and  straightway  van- 
ished beneath  his  blankets.  The  fire  smoul- 
dered and  flickered  an  hour  or  two  longer;  the 
stars  shone  brighter;  coons,  coyotes,  and  owls 
stirred  the  silence  here  and  there,  while  crickets 
and  hylas  made  a  cheerful,  continuous  music, 
so  fitting  and  full  that  it  seemed  a  part  of  the 
very  body  of  the  night.  The  only  discordance 
came  from  a  snoring  sleeper,  and  the  coughing 
sheep  with  dust  in  their  throats.  In  the  star- 
light the  flock  looked  like  a  big  gray  blanket. 

June  4.  The  camp  was  astir  at  daybreak; 
coffee,  bacon,  and  beans  formed  the  breakfast, 
followed  by  quick  dish-washing  and  packing. 
A  general  bleating  began  about  sunrise.  As 
soon  as  a  mother  ewe  arose,  her  lamb  came 
bounding  and  bunting  for  its  breakfast,  and 
after  the  thousand  youngsters  had  been  suckled 
the  flock  began  to  nibble  and  spread.  The 
restless  wethers  with  ravenous  appetites  were 
the  first  to  move,  but  dared  not  go  far  from  the 
main  body.  Billy  and  the  Indian  and  the  China- 
man kept  them  headed  along  the  weary  road, 
and  allowed  them  to  pick  up  what  little  they 
could  find  on  a  breadth  of  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile.  But  as  several  flocks  had  already  gone 
ahead  of  us,  scarce  a  leaf,  green  or  dry,  was 
11 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

left;  therefore  the  starving  flock  had  to  be  hur- 
ried on  over  the  bare,  hot  hills  to  the  nearest 
of  the  green  pastures,  about  twenty  or  thirty 
miles  from  here. 

The  pack-animals  were  led  by  Don  Quix- 
ote, a  heavy  rifle  over  his  shoulder  intended 
for  bears  and  wolves.  This  day  has  been  as 
hot  and  dusty  as  the  first,  leading  over  gently 
sloping  brown  hills,  with  mostly  the  same 
vegetation,  excepting  the  strange-looking  Sa- 
bine pine  {Pinus  Sabiniana),  which  here  forms 
small  groves  or  is  scattered  among  the  blue 
oaks.  The  trunk  divides  at  a  height  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  feet  into  two  or  more  stems,  out- 
leaning  or  nearly  upright,  with  many  strag- 
gling branches  and  long  gray  needles,  casting 
but  little  shade.  In  general  appearance  this 
tree  looks  more  like  a  palm  than  a  pine.  The 
cones  are  about  six  or  seven  inches  long,  about 
five  in  diameter,  very  heavy,  and  last  long 
after  they  fall,  so  that  the  ground  beneath 
the  trees  is  covered  with  them.  They  make 
fine  resiny,  light-giving  camp-fires,  next  to 
ears  of  Indian  corn  the  most  beautiful  fuel 
I've  ever  seen.  The  nuts,  the  Don  tells  me, 
are  gathered  in  large  quantities  by  the  Digger 
Indians  for  food.  They  are  about  as  large  and 
hard-shelled  as  hazelnuts  —  food  and  fire  fit 
for  the  gods  from  the  same  fruit. 
12 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

June  5.  This  morning  a  few  hours  after 
setting  out  with  the  crawhng  sheep-cloud, 
we  gained  the  summit  of  the  first  well-defined 
bench  on  the  mountain-flank  at  Pino  Blanco. 
The  Sabine  pines  interest  me  greatly.  They 
are  so  airy  and  strangely  palm-like  I  was 
eager  to  sketch  them,  and  was  in  a  fever  of 
excitement  without  accomplishing  much.  I 
managed  to  halt  long  enough,  however,  to 
make  a  tolerably  fair  sketch  of  Pino  Blanco 
peak  from  the  southwest  side,  where  there  is 
a  small  field  and  vineyard  irrigated  by  a  stream 
that  makes  a  pretty  fall  on  its  way  down  a 
gorge  by  the  roadside. 

After  gaining  the  open  summit  of  this  first 
bench,  feeling  the  natural  exhilaration  due 
to  the  slight  elevation  of  a  thousand  feet  or 
so,  and  the  hopes  excited  concerning  the  out- 
look to  be  obtained,  a  magnificent  section 
of  the  Merced  Valley  at  what  is  called  Horse- 
shoe Bend  came  full  in  sight  —  a  glorious 
wilderness  that  seemed  to  be  calling  with  a 
thousand  songful  voices.  Bold,  down-sweep- 
ing slopes,  feathered  with  pines  and  clumps 
of  manzanita  "wdth  sunny,  open  spaces  be- 
tween them,  make  up  most  of  the  foreground; 
the  middle  and  background  present  fold  be- 
yond fold  of  finely  modeled  hills  and  ridtrcs 
rising  into  mountain-like  masses  in  the  dis- 
13 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

tance,  all  covered  with  a  shaggy  growth  of 
chaparral,  mostly  adenostonia,  planted  so 
marvelously  close  and  even  that  it  looks  like 
soft,  rich  plush  without  a  single  tree  or  bare 
spot.  As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  it  extends,  a 
heaving,  swelling  sea  of  green  as  regular  and 
continuous  as  that  produced  by  the  heaths  of 
Scotland.  The  sculpture  of  the  landscape  is  as 
striking  in  its  main  lines  as  in  its  lavish  rich- 
ness of  detail;  a  grand  congregation  of  mas- 
sive heights  with  the  river  shining  between, 
each  carved  into  smooth,  graceful  folds  with- 
out leaving  a  single  rocky  angle  exposed,  as 
if  the  delicate  fluting  and  ridging  fashioned 
out  of  metamorphic  slates  had  been  carefully 
sandpapered.  The  whole  landscape  showed 
design,  like  man's  noblest  sculptures.  How 
wonderful  the  power  of  its  beauty !  Gazing  awe- 
stricken,  I  might  have  left  everything  for  it. 
Glad,  endless  work  would  then  be  mine  tracing 
the  forces  that  have  brought  forth  its  features, 
its  rocks  and  plants  and  animals  and  glorious 
weather.  Beauty  beyond  thought  everywhere, 
beneath,  above,  made  and  being  made  for- 
ever. I  gazed  and  gazed  and  longed  and  ad- 
mired until  the  dusty  sheep  and  packs  were 
far  out  of  sight,  made  hurried  notes  and  a 
sketch,  though  there  was  no  need  of  either,  for 
the  colors  and  lines  and  expression  of  this  di- 
14 


.•a 


HORSKSHOK   r.KM).    MKKCKI )    I;IV1;K 


VL, 


(    /        A.., 


I.N  .-1.1  i.iM-i  i;i..\(  a.    i.iH.i.  (U    nil.  .main  i-okkst  iiki.t 

AHOVK   COULTERVILLK,   NKAU   (iUEKLKV'S   .MILL 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

vine  landscape-countenance  are  so  burned  into 
mind  and  heart  thiey  surely  can  never  grow 
dim. 

The  evening  of  this  charmed  day  is  cool, 
calm,  cloudless,  and  full  of  a  kind  of  light- 
ning I  have  never  seen  before  —  white  glow- 
ing cloud-shaped  masses  down  among  the 
trees  and  bushes,  like  quick-throbbing  fire- 
flies in  the  Wisconsin  meadows  rather  than 
the  so-called  "wild  fire."  The  spreading  hairs 
of  the  horses'  tails  and  sparks  from  our  blan- 
kets show  how  highly  charged  the  air  is. 

June  6.  We  are  now  on  what  may  be  called 
the  second  bench  or  plateau  of  the  Range, 
after  making  many  small  ups  and  downs  over 
belts  of  hill-waves,  with,  of  course,  correspond- 
ing changes  in  the  vegetation.  In  open  spots 
many  of  the  lowland  compositse  are  still  to  be 
found,  and  some  of  the  Mariposa  tulips  and 
other  conspicuous  members  of  the  lily  family; 
but  the  characteristic  blue  oak  of  the  foothills 
is  left  below,  and  its  place  is  taken  by  a  fine 
large  species  (Quercus  Calif ornica)  with  deeply 
lobed  deciduous  leaves,  picturesquely  divided 
trunk,  and  broad,  massy,  finely  lobed  and 
modeled  head.  Here  also  at  a  height  of  about 
twenty-five  hundred  feet  we  come  to  the  edge 
of  the  great  coniferous  forest,  made  up  mostly 
of  yellow  pine  with  just  a  few  sugar  pines.  We 

15 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

are  now  in  the  mountains  and  they  are  in 
us,  kindUng  enthusiasm,  making  every  nerve 
quiver,  filling  every  pore  and  cell  of  us.  Our 
flesh-and-bone  tabernacle  seems  transparent 
as  glass  to  the  beauty  about  us,  as  if  truly  an 
inseparable  part  of  it,  thrilling  with  the  air 
and  trees,  streams  and  rocks,  in  the  waves  of 
the  sun,  —  a  part  of  all  nature,  neither  old 
nor  young,  sick  nor  well,  but  immortal.  Just 
now  I  can  hardly  conceive  of  any  bodily  con- 
dition dependent  on  food  or  breath  any  more 
than  the  ground  or  the  sky.  How  glorious  a 
conversion,  so  complete  and  wholesome  it  is, 
scarce  memory  enough  of  old  bondage  days  left 
as  a  standpoint  to  view  it  from!  In  this  new- 
ness of  life  we  seem  to  have  been  so  always. 
Through  a  meadow  opening  in  the  pine 
woods  I  see  snowy  peaks  about  the  head- 
waters of  the  Merced  above  Yosemite.  How 
near  they  seem  and  how  clear  their  outlines 
on  the  blue  air,  or  rather  in  the  blue  air;  for 
they  seem  to  be  saturated  with  it.  How  con- 
suming strong  the  in\dtation  they  extend! 
Shall  I  be  allowed  to  go  to  them?  Night  and 
day  I  '11  pray  that  I  may,  but  it  seems  too  good 
to  be  true.  Some  one  worthy  will  go,  able  for 
the  Godful  work,  yet  as  far  as  I  can  I  must  drift 
about  these  love-monument  mountains,  glad  to 
be  a  servant  of  servants  in  so  holy  a  wilderness. 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

Found  a  lovely  lily  (Calochortus  albus)  in 
a  shady  adenostoma  thicket  near  Coulter- 
ville,  in  company  with  Adiantum  Chilense. 
It  is  white  with  a  faint  purplish  tinge  inside 
at  the  base  of  the  petals,  a  most  impressive 
plant,  pure  as  a  snow  crystal,  one  of  the  plant 
saints  that  all  must  love  and  be  made  so  much 
the  purer  by  it  every  time  it  is  seen.  It  puts 
the  roughest  mountaineer  on  his  good  be- 
havior. With  this  plant  the  whole  world 
would  seem  rich  though  none  other  existed. 
It  is  not  easy  to  keep  on  with  the  camp  cloud 
while  such  plant  pebple  are  standing  preach- 
ing by  the  wayside. 

During  the  afternoon  we  passed  a  fine 
meadow  bounded  by  stately  pines,  mostly  the 
arrowy  yellow  pine,  with  here  and  there  a 
noble  sugar  pine,  its  feathery  arms  outspread 
above  the  spires  of  its  companion  species  in 
marked  contrast;  a  glorious  tree,  its  cones 
fifteen  to  twenty  inches  long,  swinging  like 
tassels  at  the  ends  of  the  branches  with  su- 
perb ornamental  effect.  Saw  some  logs  of 
this  species  at  the  Greeley  Mill.  They  are 
round  and  regular  as  if  turned  in  a  lathe, 
excepting  the  butt  cuts,  which  have  a  few 
buttressing  projections.  The  fragrance  of  the 
sugary  sap  is  delicious  and  scents  the  mill  and 
lumber  yard.  How  beautiful  the  ground  be- 
17 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

neath  this  pine  thickly  strewn  with  slender 
needles  and  grand  cones,  and  the  piles  of  cone- 
scales,  seed-wings  and  shells  around  the  in- 
step of  each  tree  where  the  squirrels  have  been 
feasting!  They  get  the  seeds  by  cutting  off 
the  scales  at  the  base  in  regular  order,  follow- 
ing their  spiral  arrangement,  and  the  two 
seeds  at  the  base  of  each  scale,  a  hundred  or 
two  in  a  cone,  must  make  a  good  meal.  The 
yellow  pine  cones  and  those  of  most  other 
species  and  genera  are  held  upside  down  on 
the  ground  by  the  Douglas  squirrel,  and 
turned  around  gradually  until  stripped,  while 
he  sits  usually  with  his  back  to  a  tree,  prob- 
ably for  safety.  Strange  to  say,  he  never  seems 
to  get  himself  smeared  with  gum,  not  even 
his  paws  or  whiskers  —  and  how  cleanly  and 
beautiful  in  color  the  cone-litter  kitchen- 
middens  he  makes. 

We  are  now  approaching  the  region  of 
clouds  and  cool  streams.  Magnificent  white 
cumuh  appeared  about  noon  above  the  Yo- 
semite  region,  —  floating  fountains  refresh- 
ing the  glorious  wilderness,  —  sky  moun- 
tains in  whose  pearly  hills  and  dales  the 
streams  take  their  rise,  —  blessing  with  cool- 
ing shadows  and  rain.  No  rock  landscape  is 
more  varied  in  sculpture,  none  more  delicately 
modeled  than  these  landscapes  of  the  sky; 

18 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

domes  and  peaks  rising,  swelling,  white  as 
finest  marble  and  firmly  outlined,  a  most  im- 
pressive manifestation  of  world  building. 
Every  rain-cloud,  however  fleeting,  leaves  its 
mark,  not  only  on  trees  and  flowers  whose 
pulses  are  quickened,  and  on  the  replenished 
streams  and  lakes,  but  also  on  the  rocks  are  its 
marks  engraved  whether  we  can  see  them  or 
not. 

I  have  been  examining  the  curious  and  in- 
fluential shrub  Adenostoma  fasciculata,  first 
noticed  about  Horseshoe  Bend.  It  is  very 
abundant  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  second 
plateau  near  Coulterville,  forming  a  dense, 
almost  impenetrable  growth  that  looks  dark 
in  the  distance.  It  belongs  to  the  rose  family, 
is  about  six  or  eight  feet  high,  has  small  white 
flowers  in  racemes  eight  to  twelve  inches  long, 
round  needle-like  leaves,  and  reddish  bark 
that  becomes  shreddy  when  old.  It  grows  on 
sun-beaten  slopes,  and  like  grass  is  often 
swept  away  by  running  fires,  but  is  quickly 
renewed  from  the  roots.  Any  trees  that  may 
have  established  themselves  in  its  midst  are 
at  length  killed  by  these  fires,  and  this  no 
doubt  is  the  secret  of  the  unbroken  character 
of  its  broad  belts.  A  few  manzanitas,  which 
also  rise  again  from  the  root  after  consuming 
fires,  make  out  to  dwell  with  it,  also  a  few 

19 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

bush  compositae  —  baccharis  and  linosyris, 
and  some  liliaceous  plants,  mostly  calochor- 
tus  and  brodisea,  with  deepset  bulbs  safe  from 
fire.  A  multitude  of  birds  and  "wee,  sleekit, 
cow'rin',  tim'rous  beasties"  find  good  homes 
in  its  deepest  thickets,  and  the  open  bays  and 
lanes  that  fringe  the  margins  of  its  main  belts 
offer  shelter  and  food  to  the  deer  when  winter 
storms  drive  them  down  from  their  high  moun- 
tain pastures.  A  most  admirable  plant!  It  is 
now  in  bloom,  and  I  like  to  wear  its  pretty 
fragrant  racemes  in  my  buttonhole. 

Azalea  ocddentalis,  another  charming  shrub, 
grows  beside  cool  streams  hereabouts  and  much 
higher  in  the  Yosemite  region.  We  found  it  this 
evening  in  bloom  a  few  miles  above  Greeley's 
Mill,  where  we  are  camped  for  the  night.  It  is 
closely  related  to  the  rhododendrons,  is  very 
showy  and  fragrant,  and  everybody  must  Uke 
it  not  only  for  itself  but  for  the  shady  alders 
and  willows,  ferny  meadows,  and  living  water 
associated  with  it. 

Another  conifer  was  met  to-day  —  incense 
cedar  {Libocedms  decurrens),  a  large  tree  with 
warm  yellow-green  foliage  in  flat  plumes  like 
those  of  arborvitee,  bark  cinnamon-colored, 
and  as  the  boles  of  the  old  trees  are  without 
limbs  they  make  striking  pillars  in  the  woods 
where  the  sun  chances  to  shine  on  them  —  a 
20 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

worthy  companion  of  the  kingly  sugar  and 
yellow  pines.  I  feel  strangely  attracted  to  this 
tree.  The  brown  close-grained  wood,  as  well 
as  the  small  scale-like  leaves,  is  fragrant,  and 
the  flat  over-lapping  plumes  make  fine  beds, 
and  must  shed  the  rain  well.  It  would  be  de- 
lightful to  be  storm-bound  beneath  one  of 
these  noble,  hospitable,  inviting  old  trees,  its 
broad  sheltering  arms  bent  down  like  a  tent, 
incense  rising  from  the  fire  made  from  its  dry 
fallen  branches,  and  a  hearty  wind  chanting 
overhead.  But  the  weather  is  calm  to-night, 
and  our  camp  is  only  a  sheep  camp.  We  are 
near  the  North  Fork  of  the  Merced.  The 
night  wind  is  telling  the  wonders  of  the  upper 
mountains,  their  snow  fountains  and  gardens, 
forests  and  groves;  even  their  topography  is 
in  its  tones.  And  the  stars,  the  everlasting 
sky  lilies,  how  bright  they  are  now  that  we 
have  climbed  above  the  lowland  dust!  The 
horizon  is  bounded  and  adorned  by  a  spiry 
wall  of  pines,  every  tree  harmoniously  related 
to  every  other;  definite  symbols,  divine  hiero- 
glyphics written  with  sunbeams.  Would  I 
could  understand  them!  The  stream  flowing 
past  the  camp  through'  ferns  and  lilies  and 
alders  makes  sweet  music  to  the  ear,  but  the 
pines  marshaled  around  the  edge  of  the  sky 
make  a  yet  sweeter  music  to  the  eye.  Divine 
21 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

beauty  all.  Here  I  could  stay  tethered  for- 
ever with  just  bread  and  water,  nor  would  I 
be  lonely;  loved  friends  and  neighbors,  as  love 
for  everything  increased,  would  seem  all  the 
nearer  however  many  the  miles  and  moun- 
tains between  us. 

June  7.  The  sheep  were  sick  last  night,  and 
many  of  them  are  still  far  from  well,  hardly 
able  to  leave  camp,  coughing,  groaning,  look- 
ing wretched  and  pitiful,  all  from  eating  the 
leaves  of  the  blessed  azalea.  So  at  least  say 
the  shepherd  and  the  Don.  Having  had  but 
little  grass  since  they  left  the  plains,  they  are 
starving,  and  so  eat  anything  green  they  can 
get.  "Sheep-men"  call  azalea  "sheep-poison," 
and  wonder  what  the  Creator  was  thinking 
about  when  he  made  it  —  so  desperately  does 
sheep  business  blind  and  degrade,  though 
supposed  to  have  a  refining  influence  in  the 
good  old  days  we  read  of.  The  Cahfornia  sheep 
owner  is  in  haste  to  get  rich,  and  often  does, 
now  that  pasturage  costs  nothing,  while  the 
climate  is  so  favorable  that  no  winter  food 
supply,  shelter-pens,  or  barns  are  required. 
Therefore  large  flocks  may  be  kept  at  sHght 
expense,  and  large  profits  realized,  the  money 
invested  doubling,  it  is  claimed,  every  other 
year.  This  quickly  acquired  wealth  usually 
creates  desire  for  more.  Then  indeed  the  wool 

22 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

is  drawn  close  down  over  the  poor  fellow's 
eyes,  dimming  or  shutting  out  almost  every- 
thing worth  seeing. 

As  for  the  shepherd,  his  case  is  still  worse, 
especially  in  winter  when  he  Uves  alone  in  a 
cabin.  For,  though  stimulated  at  times  by 
hopes  of  one  day  owning  a  flock  and  getting 
rich  like  his  boss,  he  at  the  same  time  is  hkely 
to  be  degraded  by  the  life  he  leads,  and  seldom 
reaches  the  dignity  or  advantage  —  or  disad- 
vantage —  of  ownership.  The  degradation  in 
his  case  has  for  cause  one  not  far  to  seek. 
He  is  solitary  most  of  the  year,  and  solitude 
to  most  people  seems  hard  to  bear.  He  sel- 
dom has  much  good  mental  work  or  recrea- 
tion in  the  way  of  books.  Coming  into  his 
dingy  hovel-cabin  at  night,  stupidly  weary, 
he  finds  nothing  to  balance  and  level  his  life 
with  the  universe.  No,  after  his  dull  drag  all 
day  after  the  sheep,  he  must  get  his  supper; 
he  is  likely  to  slight  this  task  and  try  to  satisfy 
his  hunger  with  whatever  comes  handy.  Per- 
haps no  bread  is  baked;  then  he  just  makes 
a  few  grimy  flapjacks  in  his  unwashed  frying- 
pan,  boils  a  handful  of  tea,  and  perhaps  fries 
a  few  strips  of  rusty  bacon.  Usually  there 
are  dried  peaches  or  apples  in  the  cabin,  but 
he  hates  to  be  bothered  with  the  cooking  of 
them,  just  swallows  the  bacon  and  flapjacks, 
23 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  depends  on  the  genial  stupefaction  of 
tobacco  for  the  rest.  Then  to  bed,  often  with- 
out removing  the  clothing  worn  during  the 
day.  Of  course  his  health  suffers,  reacting  on  his 
mind ;  and  seeing  nobody  for  weeks  or  months, 
he  finally  becomes  semi-insane  or  wholly  so. 

The  shepherd  in  Scotland  seldom  thinks  of 
being  anything  but  a  shepherd.  He  has  prob- 
ably descended  from  a  race  of  shepherds  and 
inherited  a  love  and  aptitude  for  the  business 
almost  as  marked  as  that  of  his  collie.  He 
has  but  a  small  flock  to  look  after,  sees  his 
family  and  neighbors,  has  time  for  reading  in 
fine  weather,  and  often  carries  books  to  the 
fields  with  which  he  may  converse  with  kings. 
The  oriental  shepherd,  we  read,  called  his  sheep 
by  name;  they  knew  his  voice  and  followed  him. 
The  flocks  must  have  been  small  and  easily 
managed,  allowing  piping  on  the  hills  and 
ample  leisure  for  reading  and  thinking.  But 
whatever  the  blessings  of  sheep-culture  in 
other  times  and  countries,  the  California  shep- 
herd, as  far  as  I've  seen  or  heard,  is  never  quite 
sane  for  any  considerable  time.  Of  all  Nature's 
voices  baa  is  about  all  he  hears.  Even  the 
howls  and  ki-yis  of  coyotes  might  be  blessings 
if  well  heard,  but  he  hears  them  only  through 
a  blur  of  mutton  and  wool,  and  they  do  him 
no  good. 

24 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

The  sick  sheep  are  getting  well,  and  the 
shepherd  is  discoursing  on  the  various  poisons 
lurking  in  these  high  pastures  —  azalea,  kal- 
mia,  alkali.  After  crossing  the  North  Fork  of 
the  Merced  we  turned  to  the  left  toward  Pilot 
Peak,  and  made  a  considerable  ascent  on  a 
rocky,  brush-covered  ridge  to  Brown's  Flat, 
where  for  the  first  time  since  leaving  the 
plains  the  flock  is  enjoying  plenty  of  green 
grass.  Mr.  Delaney  intends  to  seek  a  perma- 
nent camp  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood, 
to  last  several  weeks. 

Before  noon  we  passed  Bower  Cave,  a  de- 
lightful marble  palace,  not  dark  and  dripping, 
but  filled  with  sunshine,  which  pours  into  it 
through  its  wide-open  mouth  facing  the  south. 
It  has  a  fine,  deep,  clear  httle  lake  with  mossy 
banks  embowered  with  broad-leaved  maples, 
all  under  ground,  wholly  unlike  anything  I 
have  seen  in  the  cave  fine  even  in  Kentucky, 
where  a  large  part  of  the  State  is  honeycombed 
with  caves.  This  curious  specimen  of  sub- 
terranean scenery  is  located  on  a  belt  of  mar- 
ble that  is  said  to  extend  from  the  north  end 
of  the  Range  to  the  extreme  south.  Many 
other  caves  occur  on  the  belt,  but  none  like 
this,  as  far  as  I  have  learned,  combining  as  it 
does  sunny  outdoor  brightness  and  vegeta- 
tion with  the  crystalline  beauty  of  the  under- 

25 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

world.  It  is  claimed  by  a  Frenchman,  who  has 
fenced  and  locked  it,  placed  a  boat  on  the 
lakelet  and  seats  on  the  mossy  bank  under  the 
maple  trees,  and  charges  a  dollar  admission 
fee.  Being  on  one  of  the  ways  to  the  Yosemite 
Valley,  a  good  many  tourists  visit  it  during 
the  travel  months  of  summer,  regarding  it  as 
an  interesting  addition  to  their  Yosemite 
wonders. 

Poison  oak  or  poison  ivy  (Rhus  diversiloha), 
both  as  a  bush  and  a  scrambler  up  trees  and 
rocks,  is  common  throughout  the  foothill  re- 
gion up  to  a  height  of  at  least  three  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea.  It  is  somewhat  trouble- 
some to  most  travelers,  inflaming  the  skin  and 
eyes,  but  blends  harmoniously  with  its  com- 
panion plants,  and  many  a  charming  flower 
leans  confidingly  upon  it  for  protection  and 
shade.  I  have  oftentimes  found  the  curious 
twining  lily  (StrophoUnon  Calif  or  nicum)  climb- 
ing its  branches,  showing  no  fear  but  rather 
congenial  companionship.  Sheep  eat  it  with- 
out apparent  ill  effects;  so  do  horses  to  some 
extent,  though  not  fond  of  it,  and  to  many 
persons  it  is  harmless.  Like  most  other  things 
not  apparently  useful  to  man,  it  has  few  friends, 
and  the  bUnd  question,  ''Why  was  it  made?" 
goes  on  and  on  with  never  a  guess  that  first 
of  all  it  might  have  been  made  for  itself. 

26 


TIIROTTGII  THE  FOOTHILLS 

Brown's  Flat  is  a  shallow  fertile  valley  on 
the  top  of  the  divide  between  the  North  Fork 
of  the  Merced  and  Bull  Creek,  commanding 
magnificent  views  in  every  direction.  Here 
the  adventurous  pioneer  David  Brown  made 
his  headquarters  for  many  years,  dividing  his 
time  between  gold-hunting  and  bear-hunting. 
Where  could  lonely  hunter  find  a  better  soli- 
tude? Game  in  the  woods,  gold  in  the  rocks, 
health  and  exhilaration  in  the  air,  while  the 
colors  and  cloud  furniture  of  the  sky  are  ever 
inspiring  through  all  sorts  of  weather.  Though 
sternly  practical,  like  most  pioneers,  old  David 
seems  to  have  been  uncommonly  fond  of  scen- 
ery. Mr.  Delaney,  who  knew  him  well,  tells 
me  that  he  dearly  loved  to  climb  to  the  sum- 
mit of  a  conomanding  ridge  to  gaze  abroad 
over  the  forest  to  the  snow-clad  peaks  and 
sources  of  the  rivers,  and  over  the  foreground 
valleys  and  gulches  to  note  where  miners  were 
at  work  or  claims  were  abandoned,  judging 
by  smoke  from  cabins  and  camp-fires,  the 
sounds  of  axes,  etc.;  and  when  a  rifle-shot  was 
heard,  to  guess  who  was  the  hunter,  whether 
Indian  or  some  poacher  on  his  wide  domain. 
His  dog  Sandy  accompanied  him  everywhere, 
and  well  the  little  hairy  mountaineer  knew 
and  loved  his  master  and  his  master's  aims. 
In  deer-hunting  he  had  but  little  to  do,  trot- 

27 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ting  behind  his  master  as  he  slowly  made  his 
way  through  the  wood,  careful  not  to  step 
heavily  on  dry  twigs,  scanning  open  spots  in 
the  chaparral,  where  the  game  loves  to  feed 
in  the  early  morning  and  towards  sunset;  peer- 
ing cautiously  over  ridges  as  new  outlooks 
were  reached,  and  along  the  meadowy  borders 
of  streams.  But  when  bears  were  hunted,  little 
Sandy  became  more  important,  and  it  was 
as  a  bear-hunter  that  Brown  became  famous. 
His  hunting  method,  as  described  by  Mr.  De- 
laney,  who  had  passed  many  a  night  with  him 
in  his  lonely  cabin  and  learned  his  stories,  was 
simply  to  go  slowly  and  silently  through  the 
best  bear  pastures,  with  his  dog  and  rifle  and 
a  few  pounds  of  flour,  until  he  found  a  fresh 
track  and  then  follow  it  to  the  death,  paying 
no  heed  to  the  time  required.  Wherever  the 
bear  went  he  followed,  led  by  little  Sandy, 
who  had  a  keen  nose  and  never  lost  the  track, 
however  rocky  the  ground.  When  high  open 
points  were  reached,  the  likeliest  places  were 
carefully  scanned.  The  time  of  year  enabled 
the  hunter  to  determine  approximately  where 
the  bear  would  be  found,  —  in  the  spring  and 
early  summer  on  open  spots  about  the  banks 
of  streams  and  springy  places  eating  grass  and 
clover  and  lupines,  or  in  dry  meadows  feasting 
on  strawberries;  toward  the  end  of  summer,  on 

28 


THROUGH  THE  FOOTHILLS 

dry  ridges,  feasting  on  manzanita  berries,  sit- 
ting on  his  haunches,  pulhng  down  the  laden 
branches  with  his  paws,  and  pressing  them 
together  so  as  to  get  good  compact  mouthfuls 
however  much  mixed  with  twigs  and  leaves;  in 
the  Indian  summer,  beneath  the  pines,  chewing 
the  cones  cut  off  by  the  squirrels,  or  occasion- 
ally climbing  a  tree  to  gnaw  and  break  off  the 
fruitful  branches.  In  late  autumn,  when  acorns 
are  ripe.  Bruin's  favorite  feeding-grounds  are 
groves  of  the  California  oak  in  park-like  caiion 
flats.  Always  the  cunning  hunter  knew  where 
to  look,  and  seldom  came  upon  Bruin  una- 
wares. When  the  hot  scent  showed  the  dan- 
gerous game  was  nigh,  a  long  halt  was  made, 
and  the  intricacies  of  the  topography  and  veg- 
etation leisurely  scanned  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  shaggy  wanderer,  or  to  at  least  determine 
where  he  was  most  likely  to  be. 

"Whenever,"  said  the  hunter,  '*I  saw  a 
bear  before  it  saw  me  I  had  no  trouble  in  kill- 
ing it.  I  just  studied  the  lay  of  the  land  and 
got  to  leeward  of  it  no  matter  how  far  around 
I  had  to  go,  and  then  worked  up  to  within  a 
few  hundred  yards  or  so,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 
that  I  could  easily  climb,  but  too  small  for 
the  bear  to  climb.  Then  I  looked  well  to  the 
condition  of  my  rifle,  took  off  my  boots  so  as 
to  climb  well  if  necessary,  and  waited  until 

29 


MY  FIRST  STTIVtMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  bear  turned  its  side  in  clear  view  when 
I  could  make  a  sure  or  at  least  a  good  shot. 
In  case  it  showed  fight  I  chmbed  out  of  reach. 
But  bears  are  slow  and  awkward  with  their 
eyes,  and  being  to  leeward  of  them  they  could 
not  scent  me,  and  I  often  got  in  a  second  shot 
before  they  noticed  the  smoke.  Usually,  how- 
ever, they  run  when  wounded  and  hide  in  the 
brush.  I  let  them  run  a  good  safe  time  before 
I  ventured  to  follow  them,  and  Sandy  was 
pretty  sure  to  find  them  dead.  If  not,  he 
barked  and  drew  their  attention,  and  occa- 
sionally rushed  in  for  a  distracting  bite,  so  that 
I  was  able  to  get  to  a  safe  distance  for  a  final 
shot.  Oh,  yes,  bear-hunting  is  safe  enough  when 
followed  in  a  safe  way,  though  like  every  other 
business  it  has  its  accidents,  and  Uttle  doggie 
and  I  have  had  some  close  calls.  Bears  like 
to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  men  as  a  general 
thing,  but  if  an  old,  lean,  hungry  mother  with 
cubs  met  a  man  on  her  own  ground  she  would, 
in  my  opinion,  try  to  catch  and  eat  him.  This 
would  be  only  fair  play  anyhow,  for  we  eat 
them,  but  nobody  hereabout  has  been  used 
for  bear  grub  that  I  know  of." 

Brown  had  left  his  mountain  home  ere  we 
arrived,  but  a  considerable  number  of  Digger 
Indians  still  linger  in  their  cedar-bark  huts 
on  the  edge  of  the  flat.   They  were  attracted 

30 


TIIROITGII  THE  FOOTHILLS 

in  the  first  place  by  the  white  hunter  whom 
they  had  learned  to  respect,  and  to  whom 
they  looked  for  guidance  and  protection 
against  their  enemies  the  Pah  Utes,  who  some- 
times made  raids  across  from  the  east  side  of 
the  Range  to  plunder  the  stores  of  the  com- 
paratively feeble  Diggers  and  steal  their  wives. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  CAMP  ON  THE  NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

June  8.  The  sheep,  now  grassy  and  good- 
natured,  slowly  nibbled  their  way  down  into 
the  valley  of  the  North  Fork  of  the  Merced 
at  the  foot  of  Pilot  Peak  Ridge  to  the  place 
selected  by  the  Don  for  our  first  central  camp, 
a  picturesque  hopper-shaped  hollow  formed 
by  converging  hill  slopes  at  a  bend  of  the 
river.  Here  racks  for  dishes  and  provisions 
were  made  in  the  shade  of  the  river-bank  trees, 
and  beds  of  fern  fronds,  cedar  plumes,  and 
various  flowers,  each  to  the  taste  of  its  owner, 
and  a  corral  back  on  the  open  flat  for  the  wool. 

June  9.  How  deep  our  sleep  last  night  in 
the  mountain's  heart,  beneath  the  trees  and 
stars,  hushed  by  solemn-sounding  waterfalls 
and  many  small  soothing  voices  in  sweet  ac- 
cord whispering  peace!  And  our  first  pure 
mountain  day,  warm,  calm,  cloudless,  —  how 
immeasurable  it  seems,  how  serenely  wild!  I 
can  scarcely  remember  its  beginning.  Along 
the  river,  over  the  hills,  in  the  ground,  in  the 
sky,  spring  work  is  going  on  with  joyful  en- 
thusiasm, new  life,  new  beauty,  unfolding, 
unrolling  in  glorious  exuberant  extravagance, 

32 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

—  new  birds  in  their  nests,  new  winged  crea- 
tures in  the  air,  and  new  leaves,  new  flowers, 
spreading,  shining,  rejoicing  everywhere. 

The  trees  about  the  camp  stand  close,  giving 
ample  shade  for  ferns  and  lilies,  while  back 
from  the  bank  most  of  the  sunshine  reaches 
the  ground,  calling  up  the  grasses  and  flowers 
in  glorious  array,  tall  bromus  waving  like 
bamboos,  starry  compositai,  monardella,  Mari- 
posa tulips,  lupines,  gilias,  violets,  glad  chil- 
dren of  light.  Soon  every  fern  frond  will  be 
unrolled,  great  beds  of  common  pteris  and 
woodwardia  along  the  river,  wreaths  and  ro- 
settes of  pellaea  and  cheilanthes  on  sunny  rocks. 
Some  of  the  woodwardia  fronds  are  already 
six  feet  high. 

A  handsome  little  shrub,  Chamoebatia  fo~ 
liolosa,  belonging  to  the  rose  family,  spreads 
a  yellow-green  mantle  beneath  the  sugar  pines 
for  miles  without  a  break,  not  mixed  or  rough- 
ened with  other  plants.  Only  here  and  there 
a  Washington  lily  may  be  seen  nodding  above 
its  even  surface,  or  a  bunch  or  two  of  tall  bro- 
mus as  if  for  ornament.  This  fine  carpet  shrub 
begins  to  appear  at,  say,  twenty-five  hundred 
or  three  thousand  feet  above  sea  level,  is  about 
knee  high  or  less,  has  brown  branches,  and  the 
largest  stems  are  only  about  half  an  inch  in 
diameter.  The  leaves,  light  yellow  green, 
33 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

thrice  pinnate  and  finely  cut,  give  them  a  rich 
ferny  appearance,  and  they  are  dotted  with 
minute  glands  that  secrete  wax  with  a  pecu- 
liar pleasant  odor  that  blends  finely  with  the 
spicy  fragrance  of  the  pines.  The  flowers  are 
white,  five  eighths  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  and 
look  like  those  of  the  strawberry.  Am  de- 
lighted with  this  little  bush.  It  is  the  only 
true  carpet  shrub  of  this  part  of  the  Sierra. 
The  manzanita,  rhamnus,  and  most  of  the 
species  of  ceanothus  make  shaggy  rugs  and 
border  fringes  rather  than  carpets  or  mantles. 

The  sheep  do  not  take  kindly  to  their  new 
pastures,  perhaps  from  being  too  closely 
hemmed  in  by  the  hills.  They  are  never  fully 
at  rest.  Last  night  they  were  frightened, 
probably  by  bears  or  coyotes  prowling  and 
planning  for  a  share  of  the  grand  mass  of 
mutton. 

June  10.  Very  warm.  We  get  water  for  the 
camp  from  a  rock  basin  at  the  foot  of  a  pictur- 
esque cascading  reach  of  the  river  where  it  is 
well  stirred  and  made  lively  without  being 
beaten  into  dusty  foam.  The  rock  here  is  black 
metamorphic  slate,  worn  into  smooth  knobs  in 
the  stream  channels,  contrasting  with  the  fine 
gray  and  white  cascading  water  as  it  glides  and 
glances  and  falls  in  lace-like  sheets  and  braided 
overfolding  currents.   Tufts  of  sedge  growing 

34 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

on  the  rock  knobs  that  rise  above  the  surface 
produce  a  charming  effect,  the  long  elastic 
leaves  arching  over  in  every  direction,  the  tips 
of  the  longest  drooping  into  the  current,  which 
dividing  against  the  projecting  rocks  makes 
still  finer  lines,  uniting  with  the  sedges  to  see 
how  beautiful  the  happy  stream  can  be  made. 
Nor  is  this  all,  for  the  giant  saxifrage  also  is 
growing  on  some  of  the  knob  rock  islets,  firmly 
anchored  and  displaying  their  broad,  round, 
umbrella-like  leaves  in  showy  groups  by  them- 
selves, or  above  the  sedge  tufts.  The  flowers 
of  this  species  (Saxifraga  peltata)  are  purple, 
and  form  tall  glandular  racemes  that  are  in 
bloom  before  the  appearance  of  the  leaves.  The 
fleshy  root-stocks  grip  the  rock  in  cracks  and 
hollows,  and  thus  enable  the  plant  to  hold  on 
against  occasional  floods,  —  a  marked  species 
employed  by  Nature  to  make  yet  more  beauti- 
ful the  most  interesting  portions  of  these  cool 
clear  streams.  Near  camp  the  trees  arch  over 
from  bank  to  bank,  making  a  leafy  tunnel  full 
of  soft  subdued  light,  through  which  the  young 
river  sings  and  shines  like  a  happy  living  crea- 
ture. 

Heard  a  few  peals  of  thunder  from  the  upper 
Sierra,  and  saw  firm  white  bossy  cumuli  rising 
back  of  the  pines.  This  was  about  noon. 

June  11.  On  one  of  the  eastern  branches  of 
35 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  river  discovered  some  charming  cascades 
with  a  pool  at  the  foot  of  each  of  them.  White 
dashing  water,  a  few  bushes  and  tufts  of  carex 
on  ledges  leaning  over  with  fine  efTect,  and 
large  orange  lilies  assembled  in  superb  groups 
on  fertile  soil-beds  beside  the  pools. 

There  are  no  large  meadows  or  grassy  plains 
near  camp  to  supply  lasting  pasture  for  our 
thousands  of  busy  nibblers.  The  main  depend- 
ence is  ceanothus  brush  on  the  hills  and  tufted 
grass  patches  here  and  there,  with  lupines  and 
pea-vines  among  the  flowers  on  sumiy  open 
spaces.  Large  areas  have  already  been  stripped 
bare,  or  nearly  so,  compelling  the  poor  hungry 
wool  bundles  to  scatter  far  and  wide,  keeping 
the  shepherds  and  dogs  at  the  top  of  their  speed 
to  hold  them  within  bounds.  Mr.  Delaney  has 
gone  back  to  the  plains,  taking  the  Indian  and 
Chinaman  with  him,  leaving  instruction  to 
keep  the  flock  here  or  hereabouts  until  his  re- 
turn, which  he  promised  would  not  be  long  de- 
layed. 

How  fine  the  weather  is!  Nothing  more 
celestial  can  I  conceive.  How  gently  the  winds 
blow!  Scarce  can  these  tranquil  air-currents 
be  called  winds.  They  seem  the  very  breath  of 
Nature,  whispering  peace  to  every  living  thing. 
Down  in  the  camp  dell  there  is  no  swaying 
of  tree-tops;  most  of  the  time  not  a  leaf  moves. 

30 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

I  don't  remember  having  seen  a  single  lily 
swinging  on  its  stalk,  though  they  are  so 
tall  the  least  breeze  would  rock  them.  What 
grand  bells  these  lilies  have!  Some  of  them  big 
enough  for  children's  bonnets.  I  have  been 
sketching  them,  and  would  fain  draw  every  leaf 
of  their  wide  shining  whorls  and  every  curved 
and  spotted  petal.  More  beautiful,  better 
kept  gardens  cannot  be  imagined.  The  species 
is  Lilium  pardalinum,  five  to  six  feet  high, 
leaf-whorls  a  foot  wide,  flowers  about  six 
inches  wide,  bright  orange,  purple  spotted 
in  the  throat,  segments  re  volute  —  a  majestic 
plant. 

June  12.  A  slight  sprinkle  of  rain  —  large 
drops  far  apart,  falling  with  hearty  pat  and 
plash  on  leaves  and  stones  and  into  the  mouths 
of  the  flowers.  Cumuli  rising  to  the  eastward. 
How  beautiful  their  pearly  bosses!  How  well 
they  harmonize  with  the  upswelling  rocks  be- 
neath them.  Mountains  of  the  sky,  solid-look- 
ing, finely  sculptured,  their  richly  varied  to- 
pography wonderfully  defined.  Never  before 
have  I  seen  clouds  so  substantial  looking  in 
form  and  texture.  Nearly  every  day  toward 
noon  they  rise  with  visible  swelling  motion  as 
if  new  worlds  were  being  created.  And  how 
fondly  they  brood  and  hover  over  the  gardens 
and  forests  with  their  cooling  shadows  and 
37 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

showers,  keeping  every  petal  and  leaf  in  glad 
health  and  heart.  One  may  fancy  the  clouds 
themselves  are  plants,  springing  up  in  the  sky- 
fields  at  the  call  of  the  sun,  growing  in  beauty 
until  they  reach  their  prime,  scattering  rain 
and  hail  like  berries  and  seeds,  then  wilting  and 
dying. 

The  mountain  live  oak,  common  here  and  a 
thousand  feet  or  so  higher,  is  like  the  live  oak 
of  Florida,  not  only  in  general  appearance, 
foliage,  bark,  and  wide-branching  habit,  but  in 
its  tough,  knotty,  unwedgeable  wood.  Stand- 
ing alone  with  plenty  of  elbow  room,  the  largest 
trees  are  about  seven  to  eight  feet  in  diameter 
near  the  ground,  sixty  feet  high,  and  as  wide  or 
wider  across  the  head.  The  leaves  are  small 
and  undivided,  mostly  without  teeth  or  wavy 
edging,  though  on  young  shoots  some  are 
sharply  serrated,  both  kinds  being  found  on 
the  same  tree.  The  cups  of  the  medium-sized 
acorns  are  shallow,  thick  walled,  and  covered 
with  a  golden  dust  of  minute  hairs.  Some  of 
the  trees  have  hardly  any  main  trunk,  divid- 
ing near  the  ground  into  large  wide-spreading 
limbs,  and  these,  dividing  again  and  again, 
terminate  in  long,  drooping,  cord-like  branch- 
lets,  many  of  which  reach  nearly  to  the  ground, 
while  a  dense  canopy  of  short,  shining,  leafy 
branchlets  forms  a  round  head  which  looks 
38 


I — T~i~  '-■TEriTrrm-^T^.^Trz^^RiX'n^^^^-i=^rrr-~  t  r "',"  ■ 


(AMI',    NOinil    I'OHK    OF   Tin:    .MKi:(  HI) 


■^;5Lsi 


Mol    \I\1N    I.n  i;   OAK    I  in,,  ,■■  ir.  rliriiso/i  ].is\.    KICIIT    FKKT 
IN    lUAMKTKU 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

something  like  a  cumulus  cloud  when  the  sun- 
shine is  pouring  over  it. 

A  marked  plant  is  the  bush  poppy  {Den- 
dromecon  rigidum),  found  on  the  hot  hillsides 
near  camp,  the  only  woody  member  of  the 
order  I  have  yet  met  in  all  my  walks.  Its 
flowers  are  bright  orange  yellow,  an  inch  to 
two  inches  wide,  fruit-pods  three  or  four  inches 
long,  slender  and  curving,  —  height  of  bushes 
about  four  feet,  made  up  of  many  slim,  straight 
branches,  radiating  from  the  root,  —  a  com- 
panion of  the  manzanita  and  other  sun-loving 
chaparral  shrubs. 

June  13.  Another  glorious  Sierra  day  in 
which  one  seems  to  be  dissolved  and  absorbed 
and  sent  pulsing  onward  we  know  not  where. 
Life  seems  neither  long  nor  short,  and  we  take 
no  more  heed  to  save  time  or  make  haste  than 
do  the  trees  and  stars.  This  is  true  freedom,  a 
good  practical  sort  of  immortality.  Yonder 
rises  another  white  skyland.  How  sharply  the 
yellow  pine  spires  and  the  palm-hke  crowns  of 
the  sugar  pines  are  outlined  on  its  smooth  white 
domes.  And  hark!  the  grand  thunder  billows 
booming,  rolling  from  ridge  to  ridge,  followed 
by  the  faithful  shower. 

A  good  many  herbaceous  plants  come  thus 
far  up  the  mountains  from  the  plains,  and  are 
now  in  flower,  two  months  later  than  their  low- 
39 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

land  relatives.  Saw  a  few  columbines  to-day. 
Most  of  the  ferns  are  in  their  prime,  —  rock 
ferns  on  the  sunny  hillsides,  cheilanthes,  pella^a, 
gymnogramme;  woodwardia,  aspidium,  wood- 
sia  along  the  stream  banks,  and  the  common 
Pteris  aquilina  on  sandy  flats.  This  last,  how- 
ever common,  is  here  making  shows  of  strong, 
exuberant,  abounding  beauty  to  set  the  botan- 
ist wild  with  admiration.  I  measured  some 
scarce  full  grown  that  are  more  than  seven  feet 
high.  Though  the  commonest  and  most  widely 
distributed  of  all  the  ferns,  I  might  almost  say 
that  I  never  saw  it  before.  The  broad-shoul- 
dered fronds  held  high  on  smooth  stout  stalks 
growing  close  together,  overleaning  and  over- 
lapping, make  a  complete  ceiling,  beneath 
which  one  may  walk  erect  over  several  acres 
without  being  seen,  as  if  beneath  a  roof.  And 
how  soft  and  lovely  the  hght  streaming  through 
this  hving  ceiling,  revealing  the  arching  branch- 
ing ribs  and  veins  of  the  fronds  as  the  frame- 
work of  countless  panes  of  pale  green  and 
yellow  plant-glass  nicely  fitted  together  —  a 
fairyland  created  out  of  the  commonest  fern- 
stuff. 

The  smaller  animals  wander  about  as  if  in  a 

tropical  forest.   I  saw  the  entire  flock  of  sheep 

vanish  at  one  side  of  a  patch  and  reappear  a 

hundred  yards  farther  on  at  the  other,  their 

40 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

progress  betrayed  only  by  the  jerking  and 
trembling  of  the  fronds;  and  strange  to  say 
very  few  of  the  stout  woody  stalks  were  broken. 
I  sat  a  long  time  beneath  the  tallest  fronds, 
and  never  enjoyed  anything  in  the  way  of  a 
bower  of  wild  leaves  more  strangely  impressive. 
Only  spread  a  fern  frond  over  a  man's  head  and 
worldly  cares  are  cast  out,  and  freedom  and 
beauty  and  peace  come  in.  The  waving  of  a 
pine  tree  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  —  a  magic 
wand  in  Nature's  hand,  —  every  devout  moun- 
taineer knows  its  power;  but  the  marvelous 
beauty  value  of  what  the  Scotch  call  a  breckan 
in  a  still  dell,  what  poet  has  sung  this?  It 
would  seem  impossible  that  any  one,  however 
in  crusted  with  care,  could  escape  the  Godful 
influence  of  these  sacred  fern  forests.  Yet  this 
very  day  I  saw  a  shepherd  pass  through  one 
of  the  finest  of  them  without  betraying  more 
feeling  than  his  sheep.  ''What  do  you  think 
of  these  grand  ferns?"  I  asked.   "Oh,  they're 

only  d d  big  brakes,"  he  rephed. 

Lizards  of  every  temper,  style,  and  color 
dwell  here,  seemingly  as  happy  and  compan- 
ionable as  the  birds  and  squirrels.  Lowly, 
gentle  fellow  mortals,  enjoying  God's  sunshine, 
and  doing  the  best  they  can  in  getting  a  living, 
I  like  to  watch  them  at  their  work  and  play. 
They  bear  acquaintance  well,  and  one  Ukes 

41 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

them  the  better  the  longer  one  looks  into  their 
beautiful,  innocent  eyes.  They  are  easily 
tamed,  and  one  soon  learns  to  love  them,  as 
they  dart  about  on  the  hot  rocks,  swift  as 
dragon-flies.  The  eye  can  hardly  follow  them; 
but  they  never  make  long-sustained  runs,  usu- 
ally only  about  ten  or  twelve  feet,  then  a  sud- 
den stop,  and  as  sudden  a  start  again;  going 
all  their  journeys  by  quick,  jerking  Impulses. 
These  many  stops  I  find  are  necessary  as  rests, 
for  they  are  short-winded,  and  when  pursued 
steadily  are  soon  out  of  breath,  pant  pitifully, 
and  are  easily  caught.  Their  bodies  are  more 
than  half  tail,  but  these  tails  are  well  managed, 
never  heavily  dragged  nor  curved  up  as  if  hard 
to  carry;  on  the  contrary,  they  seem  to  follow 
the  body  lightly  of  their  own  will.  Some  are 
colored  like  the  sky,  bright  as  bluebirds,  others 
gray  like  the  Uchened  rocks  on  which  they  hunt 
and  bask.  Even  the  horned  toad  of  the  plains 
is  a  mild,  harmless  creature,  and  so  are  the 
snake-like  species  which  glide  in  curves  with 
true  snake  motion,  while  their  small,  undevel- 
oped limbs  drag  as  useless  appendages.  One 
specimen  fourteen  inches  long  which  I  observed 
closely  made  no  use  whatever  of  its  tender, 
sprouting  limbs,  but  glided  with  all  the  soft, 
sly  ease  and  grace  of  a  snake.  Here  comes  a 
little,  gray,  dusty  fellow  who  seems  to  know 

42 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

9-nd  trust  me,  running  about  my  feet,  and  look- 
ing up  cunningly  into  my  face.  Carlo  is  watch- 
ing, makes  a  quick  pounce  on  him,  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing  I  suppose;  but  Liz  has  shot  away 
from  his  paws  like  an  arrow,  and  is  safe  in  the 
recesses  of  a  clump  of  chaparral.  Gentle  sau- 
rians,  dragons,  descendants  of  an  ancient  and 
mighty  race,  Heaven  bless  you  all  and  make 
your  virtues  known !  for  few  of  us  know  as  yet 
that  scales  may  cover  fellow  creatures  as  gentle 
and  lovable  as  feathers,  or  hair,  or  cloth. 

Mastodons  and  elephants  used  to  live  here 
no  great  geological  time  ago,  as  shown  by  their 
bones,  often  discovered  by  miners  in  washing 
gold-gravel.  And  bears  of  at  least  two  species 
are  here  now,  besides  the  California  lion  or 
panther,  and  wild  cats,  wolves,  foxes,  snakes, 
scorpions,  wasps,  tarantulas;  but  one  is  almost 
tempted  at  times  to  regard  a  small  savage  black 
ant  as  the  master  existence  of  this  vast  moun- 
tain world.  These  fearless,  restless,  wandering 
imps,  though  only  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
long,  are  fonder  of  fighting  and  biting  than  any 
beast  I  know.  They  attack  every  living  thing 
around  their  homes,  often  without  cause  as  far 
as  I  can  see.  Their  bodies  are  mostly  jaws 
curved  like  ice-hooks,  and  to  get  work  for  these 
weapons  seems  to  be  their  chief  aim  and  pleas- 
ure. Most  of  their  colonies  are  established  in 
43 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

living  oaks  somewhat  decayed  or  hollowed,  in 
which  they  can  conveniently  build  their  cells. 
These  are  chosen  probably  because  of  their 
strength  as  opposed  to  the  attacks  of  animals 
and  storms.  They  work  both  day  and  night, 
creep  into  dark  caves,  climb  the  highest  trees, 
wander  and  hunt  through  cool  ravines  as  well 
as  on  hot,  unshaded  ridges,  and  extend  their 
highways  and  byivays  over  everything  but 
water  and  sky.  From  the  foothills  to  a  mile 
above  the  level  of  the  sea  nothing  can  stir  with- 
out their  knowledge;  and  alarms  are  spread  in 
an  incredibly  short  time,  without  any  howl  or 
cry  that  we  can  hear.  I  can't  understand 
the  need  of  their  ferocious  courage ;  there  seems 
to  be  no  common  sense  in  it.  Sometimes,  no 
doubt,  they  fight  in  defense  of  their  homes, 
but  they  fight  anjnvhere  and  always  wher- 
ever they  can  find  anything  to  bite.  As  soon 
as  a  vulnerable  spot  is  discovered  on  man  or 
beast,  they  stand  on  their  heads  and  sink  their 
jaws,  and  though  torn  limb  from  limb,  they 
will  yet  hold  on  and  die  biting  deeper.  When 
I  contemplate  this  fierce  creature  so  widely  dis- 
tributed and  strongly  intrenched,  I  see  that 
much  remains  to  be  done  ere  the  world  is 
brought  under  the  rule  of  universal  peace  and 
love. 
On  my  way  to  camp  a  few  minutes  ago,  I 

44 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

passed  a  dead  pine  nearly  ten  feet  in  diameter. 
It  has  been  enveloped  in  fire  from  top  to  bottom 
so  that  now  it  looks  like  a  grand  black  pillar  set 
up  as  a  monument.  In  this  noble  shaft  a  colony 
of  large  jet-black  ants  have  established  them- 
selves, laboriously  cutting  tunnels  and  cells 
through  the  wood,  whether  sound  or  decayed. 
The  entire  trunk  seems  to  have  been  honey- 
combed, judging  by  the  size  of  the  talus  of 
gnawed  chips  like  sawdust  piled  up  around  its 
base.  They  are  more  intelligent  looking  than 
their  small,  belligerent,  strong-scented  breth- 
ren, and  have  better  manners,  though  quick  to 
fight  when  required.  Their  towns  are  carved  in 
fallen  trunks  as  well  as  in  those  left  standing, 
but  never  in  sound,  living  trees  or  in  the  ground. 
When  you  happen  to  sit  down  to  rest  or  take 
notes  near  a  colony,  some  wandering  hunter  is 
sure  to  find  you  and  come  cautiously  forward 
to  discover  the  nature  of  the  intruder  and  what 
ought  to  be  done.  If  you  are  not  too  near  the 
town  and  keep  perfectly  still  he  may  run  across 
your  feet  a  few  times,  over  your  legs  and  hands 
and  face,  up  your  trousers,  as  if  taking  your 
measure  and  getting  comprehensive  views,  then 
go  in  peace  without  raising  an  alarm.  If,  how- 
ever, a  tempting  spot  is  offered  or  some  sus- 
picious movement  excites  him,  a  bite  follows, 
and  such  a  bite!    I  fancy  that  a  bear  or  wolf 

45 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

bite  is  not  to  be  compared  with  it.  A  quick 
electric  flame  of  pain  flashes  along  the  out- 
raged nerves,  and  you  discover  for  the  first 
time  how  great  is  the  capacity  for  sensation 
you  are  possessed  of.  A  shriek,  a  grab  for  the 
animal,  and  a  bewildered  stare  follow  this  bite 
of  bites  as  one  comes  back  to  consciousness 
from  sudden  eclipse.  Fortunately,  if  careful, 
one  need  not  be  bitten  oftener  than  once  or 
twice  in  a  lifetime.  This  wonderful  electric 
species  is  about  three  fourths  of  an  inch  long. 
Bears  are  fond  of  them,  and  tear  and  gnaw 
their  home-logs  to  pieces,  and  roughly  devour 
the  eggs,  larvse,  parent  ants,  and  the  rotten  or 
sound  wood  of  the  cells,  all  in  one  spicy  acid 
hash.  The  Digger  Indians  also  are  fond  of  the 
larvse  and  even  of  the  perfect  ants,  so  I  have 
been  told  by  old  mountaineers.  They  bite  off 
and  reject  the  head,  and  eat  the  tickly  acid 
body  with  keen  relish.  Thus  are  the  poor  biters 
bitten,  like  every  other  biter,  big  or  little,  in 
the  world's  great  family. 

There  is  also  a  fine,  active,  intelligent-look- 
ing red  species,  intermediate  in  size  between 
the  above.  They  dwell  in  the  ground,  and 
build  large  piles  of  seed  husks,  leaves,  straw, 
etc.,  over  their  nests.  Their  food  seems  to  be 
mostly  insects  and  plant  leaves,  seeds  and  sap. 
How  many  mouths  Nature  has  to  fill,  how 
46 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

many  neighbors  we  have,  how  little  we  know 
about  them,  and  how  seldom  we  get  in  each 
other's  way!  Then  to  think  of  the  infinite 
numbers  of  smaller  fellow  mortals,  invisibly 
small,  compared  with  which  the  smallest  ants 
are  as  mastodons. 

June  14.  The  pool-basins  below  the  falls  and 
cascades  hereabouts,  formed  by  the  heavy 
down-plunging  currents,  are  kept  nicely  clean 
and  clear  of  detritus.  The  heavier  parts  of  the 
material  swept  over  the  falls  are  heaped  up  a 
short  distance  in  front  of  the  basins  in  the  form 
of  a  dam,  thus  tending,  together  with  erosion, 
to  increase  their  size.  Sudden  changes,  how- 
ever, are  effected  during  the  spring  floods, 
when  the  snow  is  melting  and  the  upper  tribu- 
taries are  roaring  loud  from  ''bank  to  brae." 
Then  boulders  that  have  fallen  into  the  chan- 
nels, and  which  the  ordinary  summer  and  win- 
ter currents  were  unable  to  move,  are  suddenly 
swept  forward  as  by  a  mighty  besom,  hurled 
over  the  falls  into  these  pools,  and  piled  up  in 
a  new  dam  together  with  part  of  the  old  one, 
while  some  of  the  smaller  boulders  are  carried 
farther  down  stream  and  variously  lodged  ac- 
cording to  size  and  shape,  all  seeking  rest 
where  the  force  of  the  current  is  less  than  the 
resistance  they  are  able  to  offer.  But  the  great- 
est changes  made  in  these  relations  of  fall,  pool, 
47 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  dam  are  caused,  not  by  the  ordinary  spring 
floods,  but  by  extraordinary  ones  that  occur 
at  irregular  intervals.  The  testimony  of  trees 
growing  on  flood  boulder  deposits  shows  that 
a  century  or  more  has  passed  since  the  last 
master  flood  came  to  awaken  everything  mov- 
able to  go  swirling  and  dancing  on  wonderful 
journeys.  These  floods  may  occur  during  the 
summer,  when  heavy  thunder-showers,  called 
*' cloud-bursts,"  fall  on  wide,  steeply  inclined 
stream  basins  furrowed  by  converging  chan- 
nels, which  suddenly  gather  the  waters  together 
into  the  main  trunk  in  booming  torrents  of 
enormous  transporting  power,  though  short 
lived. 

One  of  these  ancient  flood  boulders  stands 
firm  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  channel,  just 
below  the  lower  edge  of  the  pool  dam  at  the 
foot  of  the  fall  nearest  our  camp.  It  is  a  nearly 
cubical  mass  of  granite  about  eight  feet  high, 
plushed  with  mosses  over  the  top  and  down 
the  sides  to  ordinary  high-water  mark.  When 
I  climbed  on  top  of  it  to-day  and  lay  down  to 
rest,  it  seemed  the  most  romantic  spot  I  had 
yet  found  —  the  one  big  stone  with  its  mossy 
level  top  and  smooth  sides  standing  square  and 
firm  and  solitary,  like  an  altar,  the  fall  in  front 
of  it  bathing  it  lightly  with  the  finest  of  the 
spray,  just  enough  to  keep  its  moss  cover  fresh; 
48 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  IMERCED 

the  clear  green  pool  beneath,  with  its  foam- 
bells  and  its  half  circle  of  lilies  leaning  forward 
like  a  band  of  admirers,  and  flowering  dogwood 
and  alder  trees  leaning  over  all  in  sun-sifted 
arches.  How  soothingly,  restfully  cool  it  is  be- 
neath that  leafy,  translucent  ceiling,  and  how 
delightful  the  water  music  —  the  deep  bass 
tones  of  the  fall,  the  clashing,  ringing  spray,  and 
infinite  variety  of  small  low  tones  of  the  current 
gliding  past  the  side  of  the  boulder-island,  and 
glinting  against  a  thousand  smaller  stones 
down  the  ferny  channel!  All  this  shut  in;  every 
one  of  these  influences  acting  at  short  range 
as  if  in  a  quiet  room.  The  place  seemed  holy, 
where  one  might  hope  to  see  God. 

After  dark,  when  the  camp  was  at  rest,  I 
groped  my  way  back  to  the  altar  boulder  and 
passed  the  night  on  it,  —  above  the  water, 
beneath  the  leaves  and  stars,  —  everything 
still  more  impressive  than  by  day,  the  fall  seen 
dimly  white,  singing  Nature's  old  love  song 
with  solemn  enthusiasm,  while  the  stars  peer- 
ing through  the  leaf-roof  seemed  to  join  in  the 
white  water's  song.  Precious  night,  precious 
day  to  abide  in  me  forever.  Thanks  be  to  God 
for  this  immortal  gift. 

June  15.  Another  reviving  morning.  Down 
the  long  mountain-slopes  the  sunbeams  pour, 
gilding  the  awakening  pines,  cheering  every 
49 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

needle,  filling  every  living  thing  with  joy. 
Robins  are  singing  in  the  alder  and  maple 
groves,  the  same  old  song  that  has  cheered  and 
sweetened  countless  seasons  over  almost  all  of 
our  blessed  continent.  In  this  mountain  hol- 
low they  seem  as  much  at  home  as  in  farmers' 
orchards.  Bullock's  oriole  and  the  Louisiana 
tanager  are  here  also,  with  many  warblers  and 
other  little  mountain  troubadours,  most  of 
them  now  busy  about  their  nests. 

Discovered  another  magnificent  specimen 
of  the  goldcup  oak  six  feet  in  diameter,  a  Doug- 
las spruce  seven  feet,  and  a  twining  lily  {Stro- 
pholirion) ,  •with  stem  eight  feet  long,  and  sixty 
rose-colored  flowers. 

Sugar  pine  cones  are  cylindrical,  slightly 
tapered  at  the  end  and  rounded  at  the  base. 
Found  one  to-day  nearly  twenty-four  inches 
long  and  six  in  diameter,  the  scales  being  open. 
Another  specimen  nineteen  inches  long;  the 
average  length  of  full-grown  cones  on  trees 
favorably  situated  is  nearly  eighteen  inches. 
On  the  lower  edge  of  the  belt  at  a  height  of 
about  twenty-five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea 
they  are  smaller,  say  a  foot  to  fifteen  inches 
long,  and  at  a  height  of  seven  thousand  feet  or 
more  near  the  upper  limits  of  its  growth  in  the 
Yosemite  region  they  are  about  the  same  size. 
This  noble  tree  is  an  inexhaustible  study  and 
50 


^  .,u 


SI  (;ai!  riNK 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

source  of  pleasure.  I  never  weary  of  gazing  at 
its  grand  tassel  cones,  its  perfectly  round  bole 
one  hundred  feet  or  more  without  a  limb,  the 
fine  purplish  color  of  its  bark,  and  its  magnifi- 
cent outsweeping,  down-curving  feathery  arms 
forming  a  crown  always  bold  and  striking  and 
exhilarating.  In  habit  and  general  port  it  looks 
somewhat  lik€  a  palm,  but  no  palm  that  I  have 
yet  seen  displays  such  majesty  of  form  and 
behavior  either  when  poised  silent  and  thought- 
ful in  sunshine,  or  wide-awake  waving  in  storm 
winds  with  every  needle  quivering.  When 
young  it  is  very  straight  and  regular  in  form 
like  most  other  conifers;  but  at  the  age  of  fifty 
to  one  hundred  years  it  begins  to  acquire  in- 
dividuality, so  that  no  two  are  alike  in  their 
prime  or  old  age.  Every  tree  calls  for  spe- 
cial admiration.  I  have  been  making  many 
sketches,  and  regret  that  I  cannot  draw  every 
needle.  It  is  said  to  reach  a  height  of  three 
hundred  feet,  though  the  tallest  I  have  meas- 
ured falls  short  of  this  stature  sixty  feet  or  more. 
The  diameter  of  the  largest  near  the  ground 
is  about  ten  feet,  though  I  've  heard  of  some 
twelve  feet  thick  or  even  fifteen.  The  diameter 
is  held  to  a  great  height,  the  taper  being  al- 
most imperceptibly  gradual.  Its  companion, 
the  yellow  pine,  is  almost  as  large.  The  long 
silvery  foliage  of  the  younger  specimens  forms 
51 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

magnificent  cylindrical  brushes  on  the  top 
shoots  and  the  ends  of  the  upturned  branches, 
and  when  the  wind  sways  the  needles  all  one 
way  at  a  certain  angle  every  tree  becomes  a 
tower  of  white  quivering  sun-fire.  Well  may 
this  shining  species  be  called  the  silver  pine.  The 
needles  are  sometimes  more  than  a  foot  long, 
almost  as  long  as  those  of  the  long-leaf  pine  of 
Florida.  But  though  in  size  the  yellow  pine  al- 
most equals  the  sugar  pine,  and  in  rugged  en- 
during strength  seems  to  surpass  it,  it  is  far  less 
marked  in  general  habit  and  expression,  with 
its  regular  conventional  spire  and  its  compara- 
tively small  cones  clustered  stiffly  among  the 
needles.  Were  there  no  sugar  pine,  then  would 
this  be  the  king  of  the  world's  eighty  or  ninety 
species,  the  brightest  of  the  bright,  waving, 
worshiping  multitude.  Were  they  mere  me- 
chanical sculptures,  what  noble  objects  they 
would  still  be!  How  much  more  throbbing, 
thrilling,  overflowing,  full  of  life  in  every  fiber 
and  cell,  grand  glowing  silver-rods  —  the  very 
gods  of  the  plant  kingdom,  living  their  sublime 
century  lives  in  sight  of  Heaven,  watched  and 
loved  and  admired  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion !  And  how  many  other  radiant  resiny  sun 
trees  are  here  and  higher  up,  —  libocedrus, 
Douglas  spruce,  silver  fir,  sequoia.  How  rich 
our  inheritance  in  these  blessed  mountains, 
52 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

the  tree  pastures  into  which  our  eyes  are 
turned! 

Now  comes  sundown.  The  west  is  all  a  glory 
of  color  transfiguring  everything.  Far  up  the 
Pilot  Peak  Ridge  the  radiant  host  of  trees  stand 
hushed  and  thoughtful,  receiving  the  Sun's 
good-night,  as  solemn  and  impressive  a  leave- 
taking  as  if  sun  and  trees  were  to  meet  no  more. 
The  daylight  fades,  the  color  spell  is  broken, 
and  the  forest  breathes  free  in  the  night  breeze 
beneath  the  stars. 

June  16.  One  of  the  Indians  from  Brown's 
Flat  got  right  into  the  middle  of  the  camp  this 
morning,  unobserved.  I  was  seated  on  a  stone, 
looking  over  my  notes  and  sketches,  and  hap- 
pening to  look  up,  was  startled  to  see  him  stand- 
ing grim  and  silent  within  a  few  steps  of  me,  as 
motionless  and  weather-stained  as  an  old  tree- 
stump  that  had  stood  there  for  centuries.  All 
Indians  seem  to  have  learned  this  wonderful 
way  of  walking  unseen,  —  making  themselves 
invisible  like  certain  spiders  I  have  been  observ- 
ing here,  which,  in  case  of  alarm,  caused,  for 
example,  by  a  bird  alighting  on  the  bush  their 
webs  are  spread  upon,  immediately  bounce 
themselves  up  and  down  on  their  clastic  threads 
so  rapidly  that  only  a  blur  is  visible.  The  wild 
Indian  power  of  escaping  observation,  even 
where  there  is  little  or  no  cover  to  hide  in,  was 
53 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

probably  slowly  acquired  in  hard  hunting  and 
fighting  lessons  while  trying  to  approach  game, 
take  enemies  by  surprise,  or  get  safely  away 
when  compelled  to  retreat.  And  this  experi- 
ence transmitted  through  many  generations 
seems  at  length  to  have  become  what  is  vaguely 
called  instinct. 

How  smooth  and  changeless  seems  the  surface 
of  the  mountains  about  us !  Scarce  a  track  is  to 
be  found  beyond  the  range  of  the  sheep  except 
on  small  open  spots  on  the  sides  of  the  streams, 
or  where  the  forest  carpets  are  thin  or  wanting. 
On  the  smoothest  of  these  open  strips  and 
patches  deer  tracks  may  be  seen,  and  the  great 
suggestive  footprints  of  bears,  which,  with 
those  of  the  many  small  animals,  are  scarce 
enough  to  answer  as  a  kind  of  light  ornamental 
stitching  or  embroidery.  Along  the  main  ridges 
and  larger  branches  of  the  river  Indian  trails 
may  be  traced,  but  they  are  not  nearly  as  dis- 
tinct as  one  would  expect  to  find  them.  How 
many  centuries  Indians  have  roamed  these 
woods  nobody  knows,  probably  a  great  many, 
extending  far  beyond  the  time  that  Columbus 
touched  our  shores,  and  it  seems  strange  that 
heavier  marks  have  not  been  made.  Indians 
walk  softly  and  hurt  the  landscape  hardly  more 
than  the  birds  and  squirrels,  and  their  brush 
and  bark  huts  last  hardly  longer  than  those  of 
54 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

wood  rats,  while  their  more  enduring  monu- 
ments, excepting  those  wrought  on  the  forests 
by  the  fires  they  made  to  improve  their  hunting 
grounds,  vanish  in  a  few  centuries. 

How  different  are  most  of  those  of  the  white 
man,  especially  on  the  lower  gold  region  — 
roads  blasted  in  the  solid  rock,  wild  streams 
dammed  and  tamed  and  turned  out  of  their 
channels  and  led  along  the  sides  of  canons  and 
valleys  to  work  in  mines  like  slaves.  Crossing 
from  ridge  to  ridge,  high  in  the  air,  on  long 
straddling  trestles  as  if  flowing  on  stilts,  or 
down  and  up  across  valleys  and  hills,  impris- 
oned in  iron  pipes  to  strike  and  wash  away 
hills  and  miles  of  the  skin  of  the  mountain's 
face,  riddling,  stripping  every  gold  gully  and 
flat.  These  are  the  white  man's  marks  made 
in  a  few  feverish  years,  to  say  nothing  of  mills, 
fields,  villages,  scattered  hundreds  of  miles 
along  the  flank  of  the  Range.  Long  will  it  be 
ere  these  marks  are  effaced,  though  Nature  is 
doing  what  she  can,  replanting,  gardening, 
sweeping  away  old  dams  and  flumes,  leveling 
gravel  and  boulder  piles,  patiently  trying  to 
heal  every  raw  scar.  The  main  gold  storm,  is 
over.  Calm  enough  are  the  gray  old  miners 
scratching  a  bare  living  in  waste  diggings  here 
and  there.  Thundering  underground  blasting 
is  still  going  on  to  feed  the  pounding  quartz 

65 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

mills,  but  their  influence  on  the  landscape  is 
liglit  as  compared  with  that  of  the  pick-and- 
shovel  storms  waged  a  few  years  ago.  For- 
tunately for  Sierra  scenery  the  gold-bearing 
slates  are  mostly  restricted  to  the  foothills. 
The  region  about  our  camp  is  still  wild,  and 
higher  lies  the  snow  about  as  trackless  as  the 
sky. 

Only  a  few  hills  and  domes  of  cloudland 
were  built  yesterday  and  none  at  all  to-day. 
The  light  is  peculiarly  white  and  thin,  though 
pleasantly  warm.  The  serenity  of  this  moun- 
tain weather  in  the  spring,  just  when  Nature's 
pulses  are  beating  highest,  is  one  of  its  great- 
est charms.  There  is  only  a  moderate  breeze 
from  the  summits  of  the  Range  at  night,  and 
a  slight  breathing  from  the  sea  and  the  low- 
land hills  and  plains  during  the  day,  or  still- 
ness so  complete  no  leaf  stirs.  The  trees  here- 
abouts have  but  little  wind  history  to  tell. 

Sheep,  like  people,  are  ungovernable  when 
hungry.  Excepting  my  guarded  lily  gardens, 
almost  every  leaf  that  these  hoofed  locusts 
can  reach  within  a  radius  of  a  mile  or  two  from 
camp  has  been  devoured.  Even  the  bushes 
are  stripped  bare,  and  in  spite  of  dogs  and 
shepherds  the  sheep  scatter  to  all  points  of  the 
compass  and  vanish  in  dust.  I  fear  some  are 
lost,  for  one  of  the  sixteen  black  ones  is  missing. 
56 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

June  17.  Counted  the  wool  bundles  this 
morning  as  they  bounced  through  the  narrow 
corral  gate.  About  three  hundred  are  missing, 
and  as  the  shepherd  could  not  go  to  seek  them, 
I  had  to  go.  I  tied  a  crust  of  bread  to  my  belt, 
and  with  Carlo  set  out  for  the  upper  slopes 
of  the  Pilot  Peak  Ridge,  and  had  a  good  day, 
notwithstanding  the  care  of  seeking  the  silly 
runaways.  I  went  out  for  wool,  and  did  not 
come  back  shorn.  A  peculiar  light  circled 
around  the  horizon,  white  and  thin  like  that 
often  seen  over  the  auroral  corona,  blending 
into  the  blue  of  the  upper  sky.  The  only  clouds 
were  a  few  faint  flossy  pencilings  like  combed 
silk.  I  pushed  direct  to  the  boundary  of  the 
usual  range  of  the  flock,  and  around  it  until  I 
found  the  outgoing  trail  of  the  wanderers.  It 
led  far  up  the  ridge  into  an  open  place  sur- 
rounded by  a  hedge-like  growth  of  ceanothus 
chaparral.  Carlo  knew  what  I  was  about,  and 
eagerly  followed  the  scent  until  we  came  up  to 
them,  huddled  in  a  timid,  silent  bunch.  They 
had  evidently  been  here  all  night  and  all  the 
forenoon,  afraid  to  go  out  to  feed.  Having 
escaped  restraint,  they  were,  like  some  peo- 
ple we  know  of,  afraid  of  their  freedom,  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  seemed  glad 
to  get  back  into  the  old  familiar  bondage. 

June  18.   Another  inspiring  morning,  noth- 
57 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ing  better  in  any  world  can  be  conceived.  No 
description  of  Heaven  that  I  have  ever  heard 
or  read  of  seems  half  so  fine.  At  noon  the 
clouds  occupied  about  .05  of  the  sky,  white 
filmy  touches  drawn  delicately  on  the  azure. 

The  high  ridges  and  hilltops  beyond  the 
woolly  locusts  are  now  gay  with  monardella, 
clarkia,  coreopsis,  and  tall  tufted  grasses,  some 
of  them  tall  enough  to  wave  like  pines.  The 
lupines,  of  which  there  are  many  ill-defined 
species,  are  now  mostly  out  of  flower,  and 
many  of  the  compositse  are  beginning  to  fade, 
their  radiant  corollas  vanishing  in  fluffy  pap- 
pus like  stars  in  mist. 

We  had  another  visitor  from  Brown's  Flat 
to-day,  an  old  Indian  woman  with  a  basket  on 
her  back.  Like  our  first  caller  from  the  village, 
she  got  fairly  into  camp  and  was  standing  in 
plain  view  when  discovered.  How  long  she 
had  been  quietly  looking  on,  I  cannot  say. 
Even  the  dogs  failed  to  notice  her  stealthy 
approach.  She  was  on  her  way,  I  suppose,  to 
some  wild  garden,  probably  for  lupine  and 
starchy  saxifrage  leaves  and  rootstocks.  Her 
dress  was  calico  rags,  far  from  clean.  In  every 
way  she  seemed  sadly  unlike  Nature's  neat 
well-dressed  animals,  though  living  like  them 
on  the  bounty  of  the  wilderness.  Strange  that 
mankind  alone  is  dirty.  Had  she  been  clad 
58 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

in  fur,  or  cloth  woven  of  grass  or  shreddy  bark, 
like  the  juniper  and  libocedrus  mats,  she 
might  then  have  seemed  a  rightful  part  of  the 
wilderness;  like  a  good  wolf  at  least,  or  bear. 
But  from  no  point  of  view  that  I  have  found 
are  such  debased  fellow  beings  a  whit  more 
natural  than  the  glaring  tailored  tourists  we 
saw  that  frightened  the  birds  and  squirrels. 

June  19.  Pure  sunshine  all  day.  How  beau- 
tiful a  rock  is  made  by  leaf  shadows!  Those 
of  the  live  oak  are  particularly  clear  and  dis- 
tinct, and  beyond  all  art  in  grace  and  delicacy, 
now  still  as  if  painted  on  stone,  now  gliding 
softly  as  if  afraid  of  noise,  now  dancing,  waltz- 
ing in  swift,  merry  swirls,  or  jumping  on  and 
off  sunny  rocks  in  quick  dashes  like  wave  em- 
broidery on  seashore  cliffs.  How  true  and 
substantial  is  this  shadow  beauty,  and  with 
what  sublime  extravagance  is  beauty  thus 
multiplied!  The  big  orange  lilies  are  now 
arrayed  in  all  their  glory  of  leaf  and  flower. 
Noble  plants,  in  perfect  health,  Nature's  dar- 
lings. 

June  20.  Some  of  the  silly  sheep  got  caught 
fast  in  a  tangle  of  chaparral  this  morning,  like 
flies  in  a  spider's  web,  and  had  to  be  helped 
out.  Carlo  found  them  and  tried  to  drive 
them  from  the  trap  by  the  easiest  way.  How 
far  above  sheep  are  intelligent  dogs!  No  friend 

59 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  helper  can  be  more  affectionate  and  con- 
stant than  Carlo.  The  noble  St.  Bernard  is 
an  honor  to  his  race. 

The  air  is  distinctly  fragrant  with  balsam 
and  resin  and  mint,  —  every  breath  of  it  a 
gift  we  may  well  thank  God  for.  Who  could 
ever  guess  that  so  rough  a  wilderness  should 
yet  be  so  fine,  so  full  of  good  things.  One 
seems  to  be  in  a  majestic  domed  pavilion  in 
which  a  grand  play  is  being  acted  with  scenery 
and  music  and  incense,  —  all  the  furniture 
and  action  so  interesting  we  are  in  no  danger 
of  being  called  on  to  endure  one  dull  moment. 
God  himself  seems  to  be  always  doing  his  best 
here,  working  like  a  man  in  a  glow  of  enthu- 
siasm. 

June  21.  Sauntered  along  the  river-bank  to 
my  lily  gardens.  The  perfection  of  beauty  in 
these  lilies  of  the  wilderness  is  a  never-ending 
source  of  admiration  and  wonder.  Their  rhi- 
zomes are  set  in  black  mould  accumulated  in 
hollows  of  the  metamorphic  slates  beside  the 
pools,  where  they  are  well  watered  without 
being  subjected  to  flood  action.  Every  leaf 
in  the  level  whorls  around  the  tall  polished 
stalks  is  as  finely  finished  as  the  petals,  and  the 
light  and  heat  required  are  measured  for  them 
and  tempered  in  passing  through  the  branches 
of   over-leaning   trees.     However   strong   the 

60 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

winds  from  the  noon  rainstorms,  they  are  se- 
curely sheltered.  Beautiful  hypnum  carpets 
bordered  with  ferns  are  spread  beneath  them, 
violets  too,  and  a  few  daisies.  Everything 
around  them  sweet  and  fresh  like  themselves. 

Cloudland  to-day  is  only  a  solitary  white 
mountain;  but  it  is  so  enriched  with  sunshine 
and  shade,  the  tones  of  color  on  its  big  domed 
head  and  bossy  outbulging  ridges,  and  in  the 
hollows  and  ravines  between  them,  are  inef- 
fably fine. 

June  22.  Unusually  cloudy.  Besides  the 
periodical  shower-bearing  cumuli  there  is  a 
thin,  diffused,  fog-like  cloud  overhead.  About 
.75  in  all. 

June  23.  Oh,  these  vast,  calm,  measureless 
mountain  days,  inciting  at  once  to  work  and 
rest!  Days  in  whose  light  everything  seems 
equally  divine,  opening  a  thousand  windows 
to  show  us  God.  Nevermore,  however  weary, 
should  one  faint  by  the  way  who  gains  the 
blessings  of  one  mountain  day;  whatever  his 
fate,  long  life,  short  life,  stormy  or  calm,  he  is 
rich  forever. 

June  24.  Our  regular  allowance  of  clouds 
and  thunder.  Shepherd  Billy  is  in  a  peck  of 
trouble  about  the  sheep;  he  declares  that 
they  are  possessed  with  more  of  the  evil  one 
than  any  other  flock  from  the  beginning  of  the 
61 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

invention  of  mutton  and  wool  to  the  last  batch 
of  it.  No  matter  how  many  are  missing,  he 
will  not,  he  says,  go  a  step  to  seek  them,  be- 
cause, as  he  reasons,  while  getting  back  one 
wanderer  he  would  probably  lose  ten.  There- 
fore runaway  hunting  must  be  Carlo's  and 
mine.  Billy's  little  dog  Jack  is  also  giving 
trouble  by  leaving  camp  every  night  to  visit 
his  neighbors  up  the  mountain  at  Brown's 
Flat.  He  is  a  common-looking  cur  of  no  par- 
ticular breed,  but  tremendously  enterprising 
in  love  and  war.  He  has  cut  all  the  ropes  and 
leather  straps  he  has  been  tied  with,  until 
his  master  in  desperation,  after  climbing  the 
brushy  mountain  again  and  again  to  drag  him 
back,  fastened  him  with  a  pole  attached  to  his 
collar  under  his  chin  at  one  end,  and  to  a  stout 
sapling  at  the  other.  But  the  pole  gave  good 
leverage,  and  by  constant  twisting  during  the 
night,  the  fastening  at  the  sapling  end  was 
chafed  off,  and  he  set  out  on  his  usual  jour- 
ney, dragging  the  pole  through  the  brush,  and 
reached  the  Indian  settlement  in  safety.  His 
master  followed,  and  making  no  allowance, 
gave  him  a  beating,  and  swore  in  bad  terms 
that  next  evening  he  would  ''fix  that  infatu- 
ated pup"  by  anchoring  him  unmercifully  to 
the  heavy  cast-iron  lid  of  our  Dutch  oven, 
weighing  about  as  much  as  the  dog.    It  was 

G2 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

linked  directly  to  his  collar  close  up  under  the 
chin,  so  that  the  poor  fellow  seemed  unable 
to  stir.  He  stood  quite  discouraged  until  after 
dark,  unable  to  look  about  him,  or  even  to  lie 
down  unless  he  stretched  himself  out  with  his 
front  feet  across  the  lid,  and  his  head  close 
down  between  his  paws.  Before  morning, 
however,  Jack  was  heard  far  up  the  height 
howling  Excelsior,  cast-iron  anchor  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding.  He  must  have 
walked,  or  rather  climbed,  erect  on  his  hind 
legs,  clasping  the  heavy  lid  like  a  shield  against 
his  breast,  a  formidable  ironclad  condition  in 
which  to  meet  his  rivals.  Next  night,  dog, 
pot-lid,  and  all,  were  tied  up  in  an  old  bean- 
sack,  and  thus  at  last  angry  Billy  gained  the 
victory.  Just  before  leaving  home,  Jack  was 
bitten  in  the  lower  jaw  by  a  rattlesnake,  and 
for  a  week  or  so  his  head  and  neck  were  swollen 
to  more  than  double  the  normal  size;  never- 
theless he  ran  about  as  brisk  and  lively  as 
ever,  and  is  now  completely  recovered.  The 
only  treatment  he  got  was  fresh  milk  —  a 
gallon  or  two  at  a  time  forcibly  poured  down 
his  sore,  poisoned  throat. 

June  25.  Though  only  a  sheep-camp,  this 
grand  mountain  hollow  is  home,  sweet  home, 
every  day  growing  sweeter,  and  I  shall  be 
torry  to  leave  it.   The  lily  gardens  are  safe  as 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

yet  from  the  trampling  flock.  Poor,  dusty, 
raggedy,  famishing  creatures,  I  heartily  pity 
them.  Many  a  mile  they  must  go  every  day 
to  gather  their  fifteen  or  twenty  tons  of  chap- 
arral and  grass. 

June  26.  Nuttall's  flowering  dogwood  makes 
a  fine  show  when  in  bloom.  The  whole  tree  is 
then  snowy  white.  The  involucres  are  six  to 
eight  inches  wide.  Along  the  streams  it  is  a 
good-sized  tree  thirty  to  fifty  feet  high,  with 
a  broad  head  when  not  crowded  by  compan- 
ions. Its  showy  involucres  attract  a  crowd  of 
moths,  butterflies,  and  other  winged  people 
about  it  for  their  own,  and,  I  suppose,  the 
tree's  advantage.  It  likes  plenty  of  cool  water, 
and  is  a  great  drinker  like  the  alder,  willow, 
and  Cottonwood,  and  flourishes  best  on  stream 
banks,  though  it  often  wanders  far  from 
streams  in  damp  shady  glens  beneath  the 
pines,  where  it  is  much  smaller.  When  the 
leaves  ripen  in  the  fall,  they  become  more 
beautiful  than  the  flowers,  displaying  charm- 
ing tones  of  red,  purple,  and  lavender.  An- 
other species  grows  in  abundance  as  a  chap- 
arral shrub  on  the  shady  sides  of  the  hills, 
probably  Cornus  sessilis.  The  leaves  are  eaten 
by  the  sheep.  —  Heard  a  few  hghtning  strokes 
in  the  distance,  with  rumbling,  mumbling  re- 
verberations. 

64 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

June  27.  The  beaked  hazel  (Corylus  rostrata, 
var.  Californica)  is  common  on  cool  slopes 
up  toward  the  summit  of  the  Pilot  Peak 
Ridge.  There  is  something  peculiarly  attrac- 
tive in  the  hazel,  like  the  oaks  and  heaths 
of  the  cool  countries  of  our  forefathers,  and 
through  them  our  love  for  these  plants  has,  I 
suppose,  been  transmitted.  This  species  is 
four  or  five  feet  high,  leaves  soft  and  hairy, 
grateful  to  the  touch,  and  the  delicious  nuts 
are  eagerly  gathered  by  Indians  and  squirrels. 
The  sky  as  usual  adorned  with  white  noon 
clouds. 

June  28.  Warm,  mellow  summer.  The 
glowing  sunbeams  make  every  nerve  tingle. 
The  new  needles  of  the  pines  and  firs  are 
nearly  full  grown  and  shine  gloriously.  Lizards 
are  glinting  about  on  the  hot  rocks;  some  that 
live  near  the  camp  are  more  than  half  tame. 
They  seem  attentive  to  every  movement  on 
our  part,  as  if  curious  to  simply  look  on  with- 
out suspicion  of  harm,  turning  their  heads  to 
look  back,  and  making  a  variety  of  pretty 
gestures.  Gentle,  guileless  creatures  with 
beautiful  eyes,  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  them 
when  we  leave  camp. 

June  29.  I  have  been  making  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  very  interesting  little  bird  that  flits 
about  the  falls  and  rapids  of  the  main  branches 
65 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

of  the  river.  It  is  not  a  water-bird  in  struc- 
ture, though  it  gets  its  living  in  the  water,  and 
never  leaves  the  streams.  It  is  not  web-footed, 
yet  it  dives  fearlessly  into  deep  swirling  rapids, 
evidently  to  feed  at  the  bottom,  using  its 
wings  to  swim  with  under  water  just  as  ducks 
and  loons  do.  Sometimes  it  wades  about  in 
shallow  places,  thrusting  its  head  under  from 
time  to  time  in  a  jerking,  nodding,  frisky  way 
that  is  sure  to  attract  attention.  It  is  about 
the  size  of  a  robin,  has  short  crisp  wings  ser- 
viceable for  flying  either  in  water  or  air,  and  a 
tail  of  moderate  size  slanted  upward,  giving 
it,  with  its  nodding,  bobbing  manners,  a  wren- 
nish  look.  Its  color  is  plain  bluish  ash,  with  a 
tinge  of  brown  on  the  head  and  shoulders.  It 
flies  from  fall  to  fall,  rapid  to  rapid,  with  a 
solid  whir  of  wing-beats  lilve  those  of  a  quail, 
follows  the  windings  of  the  stream,  and  usu- 
ally alights  on  some  rock  jutting  up  out  of  the 
current,  or  on  some  stranded  snag,  or  rarely 
on  the  dry  limb  of  an  overhanging  tree,  perch- 
ing like  regular  tree  birds  when  it  suits  its  con- 
venience. It  has  the  oddest,  daintiest  mincing 
manners  imaginable;  and  the  little  fellow  can 
sing  too,  a  sweet,  thrushy,  fluty  song,  rather 
low,  not  the  least  boisterous,  and  much  less 
keen  and  accentuated  than  from  its  vigorous 
briskness  one  would  be  led  to  look  for.  WTiat 

CG 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

a  romantic  life  this  little  bird  leads  on  the 
most  beautiful  portions  of  the  streams,  in  a 
genial  climate  with  shade  and  cool  water  and 
spray  to  temper  the  summer  heat.  No  wonder 
it  is  a  fine  singer,  considering  the  stream  songs 
it  hears  day  and  night.  Every  breath  the  little 
poet  draws  is  part  of  a  song,  for  all  the  air 
about  the  rapids  and  falls  is  beaten  into  music, 
and  its  first  lessons  must  begin  before  it  is  born 
by  the  thrilling  and  quivering  of  the  eggs  in 
unison  with  the  tones  of  the  falls.  I  have  not 
yet  found  its  nest,  but  it  must  be  near  the 
streams,  for  it  never  leaves  them. 

June  30.  Half  cloudy,  half  sunny,  clouds 
lustrous  white.  The  tall  pines  crowded  along 
the  top  of  the  Pilot  Peak  Ridge  look  like  six- 
inch  miniatures  exquisitely  outlined  on  the 
satiny  sky.  Average  cloudiness  for  the  day 
about  .25.  No  rain.  And  so  this  memorable 
month  ends,  a  stream  of  beauty  unmeasured, 
no  more  to  be  sectioned  off  by  almanac  arith- 
metic than  sun-radiance  or  the  currents  of 
seas  and  rivers  —  a  peaceful,  joyful  stream 
of  beauty.  Every  morning,  arising  from  the 
death  of  sleep,  the  happy  plants  and  all  our 
fellow  animal  creatures  great  and  small,  and 
even  the  rocks,  seemed  to  be  shouting,  "Awake, 
awake,  rejoice,  rejoice,  come  love  us  and  join 
in  our  song.  Come!  Come!"  Looking  back 
67 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

through  the  stillness  and  romantic  enchanting 
beauty  and  peace  of  the  camp  grove,  this  June 
seems  the  greatest  of  all  the  months  of  my  life, 
the  most  truly,  divinely  free,  boundless  like 
eternity,  immortal.  Everything  in  it  seems 
equally  divine  —  one  smooth,  pure,  wild  glow 
of  Heaven's  love,  never  to  be  blotted  or  blurred 
by  anything  past  or  to  come. 

July  1.  Summer  is  ripe.  Flocks  of  seeds  are 
already  out  of  their  cups  and  pods  seeking 
their  predestined  places.  Some  will  strike  root 
and  grow  up  beside  their  parents,  others  fly- 
ing on  the  wings  of  the  wind  far  from  them, 
among  strangers.  Most  of  the  young  birds 
are  full  feathered  and  out  of  their  nests,  though 
still  looked  after  by  both  father  and  mother, 
protected  and  fed  and  to  some  extent  edu- 
cated. How  beautiful  the  home  life  of  birds! 
No  wonder  we  all  love  them. 

I  like  to  watch  the  squirrels.  There  are  two 
species  here,  the  large  Cahfornia  gray  and  the 
Douglas.  The  latter  is  the  brightest  of  all 
the  squirrels  I  have  ever  seen,  a  hot  spark  of 
life,  making  every  tree  tingle  with  his  prickly 
toes,  a  condensed  nugget  of  fresh  mountain 
vigor  and  valor,  as  free  from  disease  as  a  sun- 
beam. One  cannot  think  of  such  an  animal 
ever  being  weary  or  sick.  He  seems  to  think 
the  mountains  belong  to  him,  and  at  first  tried 
68 


M  ( ,  ^,     .HI 


V..W; 


:)'.i. 


.^ 


r- 


(<!^ 


DOU(iL\.S    Sta'IKlM:i-   oliSKRVING   BROTHliK    MAN 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

to  drive  away  the  whole  flock  of  sheep  as  well 
as  the  shepherd  and  dogs.  How  he  scolds,  and 
what  faces  he  makes,  all  eyes,  teeth,  and  whis- 
kers! If  not  so  comically  small,  he  would  in- 
deed be  a  dreadful  fellow.  I  should  like  to 
know  more  about  his  bringing  up,  his  life  in 
the  home  knot-hole,  as  well  as  in  the  tree- 
tops,  throughout  all  seasons.  Strange  that  I 
have  not  yet  found  a  nest  full  of  young  ones. 
The  Douglas  is  nearly  alhed  to  the  red  squirrel 
of  the  Atlantic  slope,  and  may  have  been  dis- 
tributed to  this  side  of  the  continent  by  way 
of  the  great  unbroken  forests  of  the  north. 
The  Cahfornia  gray  is  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful, and,  next  to  the  Douglas,  the  most  in- 
teresting of  our  hairy  neighbors.  Compared 
with  the  Douglas  he  is  twice  as  large,  but  far 
less  lively  and  influential  as  a  worker  in  the 
woods  and  he  manages  to  make  his  way 
through  leaves  and  branches  with  less  stir 
than  his  small  brother.  I  have  never  heard 
him  bark  at  anything  except  our  dogs.  "WTien 
in  search  of  food  he  glides  silently  from  branch 
to  branch,  examining  last  year's  cones,  to  see 
whether  some  few  seeds  may  not  be  left  be- 
tween the  scales,  or  gleans  fallen  ones  among 
the  leaves  on  the  ground,  since  none  of  the 
present  season's  crop  is  yet  available.  His  tail 
floats  now  behind  hun,  now  above  him,  level 
09 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

or  gracefully  curled  like  a  wisp  of  cirrus  cloud, 
every  hair  in  its  place,  clean  and  shining  and 
radiant  as  thistle-down  in  spite  of  rough, 
gummy  work.  His  whole  body  seems  about  as 
unsubstantial  as  his  tail.  The  little  Douglas  is 
fiery,  peppery,  full  of  brag  and  fight  and  show, 
with  movements  so  quick  and  keen  they  almost 
sting  the  onlooker,  and  the  harlequin  gyrating 
show  he  makes  of  himself  turns  one  giddy  to 
see.  The  gray  is  shy,  and  oftentimes  stealthy 
in  his  movements,  as  if  half  expecting  an  enemy 
in  every  tree  and  bush,  and  back  of  every  log, 
wishing  only  to  be  let  alone  apparently,  and 
manifesting  no  desire  to  be  seen  or  admired  or 
feared.  The  Indians  hunt  this  species  for  food, 
a  good  cause  for  caution,  not  to  mention 
other  enemies  —  hawks,  snakes,  wild  cats.  In 
woods  where  food  is  abundant  they  wear  paths 
through  sheltering  thickets  and  over  prostrate 
trees  to  some  favorite  pool  where  in  hot  and 
dry  weather  they  drink  at  nearly  the  same 
hour  every  day.  These  pools  are  said  to  be 
narrowly  watched,  especially  by  the  boys, 
who  lie  in  ambush  with  bow  and  arrow,  and 
kill  without  noise.  But,  in  spite  of  enemies, 
squirrels  are  happy  fellows,  forest  favorites, 
types  of  tireless  life.  Of  all  Nature's  wild 
beasts,  they  seem  to  me  the  wildest.  May  we 
come  to  know  each  other  better. 

70 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

The  chaparral-covered  hill-slope  to  the 
south  of  the  camp,  besides  furnishing  nesting- 
places  for  countless  merry  birds,  is  the  home 
and  hiding-place  of  the  curious  wood  rat  {Neo- 
toma),  a  handsome,  interesting  animal,  always 
attracting  attention  wherever  seen.  It  is  more 
like  a  squirrel  than  a  rat,  is  much  larger,  has 
deUcate,  thick,  soft  fur  of  a  bluish  slate  color, 
white  on  the  belly;  ears  large,  thin,  and  trans- 
lucent; eyes  soft,  full,  and  Uquid;  claws  slender, 
sharp  as  needles ;  and  as  his  limbs  are  strong,  he 
can  climb  about  as  well  as  a  squirrel.  No  rat  or 
squirrel  has  so  innocent  a  look,  is  so  easily  ap- 
proached, or  expresses  such  confidence  in  one's 
good  intentions.  He  seems  too  fine  for  the 
thorny  thickets  he  inhabits,  and  his  hut  also  is 
as  unlike  himself  as  may  be,  though  softly  fur- 
nished inside.  No  other  animal  inhabitant  of 
these  mountains  builds  houses  so  large  and 
striking  in  appearance.  The  traveler  coming 
suddenly  upon  a  group  of  them  for  the  first 
time  will  not  be  hkely  to  forget  them.  They  are 
built  of  all  kinds  of  sticks,  old  rotten  pieces 
picked  up  anywhere,  and  green  prickly  twigs 
bitten  from  the  nearest  bushes,  the  whole  mixed 
with  miscellaneous  odds  and  ends  of  everything 
movable,  such  as  bits  of  cloddy  earth,  stones, 
bones,  deerhorn,  etc.,  piled  up  in  a  conical  mass 
as  if  it  were  got  ready  for  burning.  Some  of 
71 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

these  curious  cabins  are  six  feet  high  and  as 
wide  at  the  base,  and  a  dozen  or  more  of  them 
are  occasionally  grouped  together,  less  per- 
haps for  the  sake  of  society  than  for  advan- 
tages of  food  and  shelter.  Coming  through  the 
dense  shaggy  thickets  of  some  lonely  hillside, 
the  solitary  explorer  happening  into  one  of 
these  strange  villages  is  startled  at  the  sight, 
and  may  fancy  himself  in  an  Indian  settlement, 
and  begin  to  wonder  what  kind  of  reception  he 
is  likely  to  get.  But  no  savage  face  will  he  see, 
perhaps  not  a  single  inhabitant,  or  at  most  two 
or  three  seated  on  top  of  their  wigwams,  look- 
ing at  the  stranger  with  the  mildest  of  wild 
eyes,  and  allowing  a  near  approach.  In  the 
center  of  the  rough  spiky  hut  a  soft  nest  is 
made  of  the  inner  fibers  of  bark  chewed  to  tow, 
and  lined  with  feathers  and  the  down  of  various 
seeds,  such  as  willow  and  milkweed.  The  deli- 
cate creature  in  its  prickly,  thick-walled  home 
suggests  a  tender  flower  in  a  thorny  involucre. 
Some  of  the  nests  are  built  in  trees  thirty  or 
forty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  even  in  garrets, 
as  if  seeking  the  company  and  protection  of 
man,  like  swallows  and  linnets,  though  accus- 
tomed to  the  wildest  soUtude.  Among  house- 
keepers Neotoma  has  the  reputation  of  a  thief, 
because  he  carries  away  everything  transport- 
able to  his  queer  hut,  —  knives,  forks,  combs, 

72 


NORTH  FORK  OF  THE  MERCED 

nails,  tin  cups,  spectacles,  etc.,  —  merely,  how- 
ever, to  strengthen  his  fortifications,  I  guess. 
His  food  at  home,  as  far  as  I  have  learned,  is 
nearly  the  same  as  that  of  the  squirrels  —  nuts, 
berries,  seeds,  and  sometimes  the  bark  and 
tender  shoots  of  the  various  species  of  ceano- 
thus. 

July  2.  Warm,  sunny  day,  thrilling  plant 
and  animals  and  rocks  alike,  making  sap  and 
blood  flow  fast,  and  making  every  particle  of 
the  crystal  mountains  throb  and  swirl  and 
dance  in  glad  accord  like  star-dust.  No  dull- 
ness anywhere  visible  or  thinkable.  No  stagna- 
tion, no  death.  Everything  kept  in  joyful 
rhythmic  motion  in  the  pulses  of  Nature's  big 
heart. 

Pearl  cumuli  over  the  higher  mountains  — 
clouds,  not  with  a  silver  lining,  but  all  silver. 
The  brightest,  crispest,  rockiest-looking  clouds, 
most  varied  in  features  and  keenest  in  outline  I 
ever  saw  at  any  time  of  year  in  any  country. 
The  daily  building  and  unbuilding  of  these 
snowy  cloud-ranges  —  the  highest  Sierra  —  is 
a  prime  marvel  to  me,  and  I  gaze  at  the  stupen- 
dous white  domes,  miles  high,  with  ever  fresh 
admiration.  But  in  the  midst  of  these  sky  and 
mountain  affairs  a  change  of  diet  is  pulling  us 
down.  We  have  been  out  of  bread  a  few  days, 
and  begin  to  miss  it  more  than  seems  reason- 
73 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

able,  for  we  have  plenty  of  meat  and  sugar  and 
tea.  Strange  we  yliould  feel  food-poor  in  so 
rich  a  wilderness.  The  Indians  put  us  to  shame, 
BO  do  the  squirrels,  —  starchy  roots  and  seeds 
and  bark  in  abundance,  yet  the  failure  of  the 
meal  sack  disturbs  our  bodily  balance,  and 
threatens  our  best  enjoyments. 

July  3.  Warm.  Breeze  just  enough  to  sift 
through  the  woods  and  waft  fragrance  from 
their  thousand  fountains.  The  pine  and  fir 
cones  are  growing  well,  resin  and  balsam  drip- 
ping from  every  tree,  and  seeds  are  ripening 
fast,  promising  a  fine  harvest.  The  squirrels 
will  have  bread.  They  eat  all  kinds  of  nuts 
long  before  they  are  ripe,  and  yet  never  seem  to 
suffer  in  stomach. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   BREAD    FAMINE 

July  4.  The  air  beyond  the  flock  range,  full 
of  the  essences  of  the  woods,  is  growing  sweeter 
and  more  fragrant  from  day  to  day,  like  ripen- 
ing fruit. 

Mr.  Delaney  is  expected  to  arrive  soon  from 
the  lowlands  with  a  new  stock  of  provisions, 
and  as  the  flock  is  to  be  moved  to  fresh  pastures 
we  shall  all  be  well  fed.  In  the  mean  time  our 
stock  of  beans  as  well  as  flour  has  failed  — 
everything  but  mutton,  sugar,  and  tea.  The 
shepherd  is  somewhat  demoralized,  and  seems 
to  care  but  little  what  becomes  of  his  flock.  He 
says  that  since  the  boss  has  failed  to  feed  him 
he  is  not  rightly  bound  to  feed  the  sheep,  and 
swears  that  no  decent  white  man  can  climb 
these  steep  mountains  on  mutton  alone.  "It's 
not  fittin'  grub  for  a  white  man  really  white. 
For  dogs  and  coyotes  and  Indians  it's  different. 
Good  grub,  good  sheep.  That's  what  I  say." 
Such  was  Billy's  Fourth  of  July  oration. 

July  5.  The  clouds  of  noon  on  the  high 
Sierra  seem  yet  more  marvelously,  indescrib- 
ably beautiful  from  day  to  day  as  one  becomes 

75 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

more  wakeful  to  see  them.  The  smoke  of  the 
gunpowder  burned  yesterday  on  the  lowlands, 
and  the  eloquence  of  the  orators  has  probably 
settled  or  been  blown  away  by  this  time.  Here 
every  day  is  a  holiday,  a  jubilee  ever  sounding 
with  serene  enthusiasm,  without  wear  or  waste 
or  cloying  weariness.  Everjrthing  rejoicing. 
Not  a  single  cell  or  crystal  unvisited  or  for- 
gotten. 

July  6.  Mr.  Delaney  has  not  arrived,  and 
the  bread  famine  is  sore.  We  must  eat  mutton 
a  while  longer,  though  it  seems  hard  to  get  ac- 
customed to  it.  I  have  heard  of  Texas  pioneers 
living  without  bread  or  anything  made  from  the 
cereals  for  months  without  suffering,  using  the 
breast-meat  of  wild  turkeys  for  bread.  Of  this 
kind  they  had  plenty  in  the  good  old  days 
when  life,  though  considered  less  safe,  was 
fussed  over  the  less.  The  trappers  and  fur  trad- 
ers of  early  days  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  regions 
lived  on  bison  and  beaver  meat  for  months. 
Salmon-eaters,  too,  there  are  among  both 
Indians  and  whites  who  seem  to  suffer  httle 
or  not  at  all  from  the  want  of  bread.  Just  at 
this  moment  mutton  seems  the  least  desirable 
of  food,  though  of  good  quahty.  We  pick  out 
the  leanest  bits,  and  down  they  go  against 
heavy  disgust,  causing  nausea  and  an  effort  to 
reject  the  offensive  stuff.  Tea  makes  matters 
76 


A  BREAD  FAMINE 

worse,  if  possible.  The  stomach  begins  to  as- 
sert itself  as  au  independent  creature  with  a  will 
of  its  own.  We  should  boil  lupine  leaves,  clover, 
starchy  petioles,  and  saxifrage  rootstocks  like 
the  Indians.  We  try  to  ignore  our  gastric 
troubles,  rise  and  gaze  about  us,  turn  our  eyes 
to  the  mountains,  and  climb  doggedly  up 
through  brush  and  rocks  into  the  heart  of  the 
scenery.  A  stifled  calm  comes  on,  and  the  day's 
duties  and  even  enjoyments  are  languidly  got 
through  with.  We  chew  a  few  leaves  of  ceano- 
thus  by  way  of  luncheon,  and  smell  or  chew  the 
spicy  monardella  for  the  dull  headache  and 
stomach-ache  that  now  lightens,  now  comes 
muffling  down  upon  us  and  into  us  like  fog.  At 
night  more  mutton,  flesh  to  flesh,  down  with  it, 
not  too  much,  and  there  are  the  stars  shining 
through  the  cedar  plumes  and  branches  above 
our  beds. 

July  7.  Rather  weak  and  sickish  this  morn- 
ing, and  all  about  a  piece  of  bread.  Can  scarce 
command  attention  to  my  best  studies,  as  if  one 
could  n't  take  a  few  days'  saunter  in  the  God- 
ful  woods  without  maintaining  a  base  on  a 
wheat-field  and  gristmill.  Like  caged  parrots  we 
want  a  cracker,  any  of  the  hundred  kinds —  the 
remainder  biscuit  of  a  voyage  around  the  world 
would  answer  well  enough,  nor  would  the  whole- 
someness  of  saleratus  biscuit  be  questioned. 
77 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Bread  without  flesh  is  a  good  diet,  as  on  many 
botanical  excursions  I  have  proved.  Tea  also 
may  easily  be  ignored.  Just  bread  and  water 
and  delightful  toil  is  all  I  need,  —  not  unreason- 
ably much,  yet  one  ought  to  be  trained  and 
tempered  to  enjoy  life  in  these  brave  wilds  in  full 
independence  of  any  particular  kind  of  nourish- 
ment. That  this  may  be  accompHshed  is  mani- 
fest, as  far  as  bodily  welfare  is  concerned,  in  the 
lives  of  people  of  other  climes.  The  Eskimo, 
for  example,  gets  a  living  far  north  of  the  wheat 
line,  from  oily  seals  and  whales.  Meat,  berries, 
bitter  weeds,  and  blubber,  or  only  the  last,  for 
months  at  a  time;  and  yet  these  people  all 
around  the  frozen  shores  of  our  continent  are 
said  to  be  hearty,  jolly,  stout,  and  brave.  We 
hear,  too,  of  fish-eaters,  carnivorous  as  spiders, 
yet  well  enough  as  far  as  stomachs  are  con- 
cerned, while  we  are  so  ridiculously  helpless, 
making  wry  faces  over  our  fare,  looking  sheep- 
ish in  digestive  distress  amid  rumbhng,  grum- 
bling sounds  that  might  well  pass  for  smothered 
baas.  We  have  a  large  supply  of  sugar,  and  this 
evening  it  occurred  to  me  that  these  belliger- 
ent stomachs  might  possibly,  like  complaining 
children,  be  coaxed  with  candy.  Accordingly 
the  frying-pan  was  cleansed,  and  a  lot  of  sugar 
cooked  in  it  to  a  sort  of  wax,  but  this  stuff  only 
made  matters  worse. 

78 


A  BREAD  FAMINE 

Man  seems  to  be  the  only  animal  whose  food 
soils  him,  making  necessary  much  washing  and 
shield-like  bibs  and  napkins.  Moles  Uving  in 
the  earth  and  eating  slimy  worms  are  yet  as 
clean  as  seals  or  fishes,  whose  lives  are  one 
perpetual  wash.  And,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
squirrels  in  these  resiny  woods  keep  themselves 
clean  in  some  mysterious  way;  not  a  hair  is 
sticky,  though  they  handle  the  gummy  cones, 
and  glide  about  apparently  without  care.  The 
birds,  too,  are  clean,  though  they  seem  to  make 
a  good  deal  of  fuss  washing  and  cleaning  their 
feathers.  Certain  flies  and  ants  I  see  are  in  a 
fix,  entangled  and  sealed  up  in  the  sugar-wax 
we  threw  away,  hke  some  of  their  ancestors  in 
amber.  Our  stomachs,  like  tired  muscles,  are 
sore  with  long  squirming.  Once  I  was  very 
hungry  in  the  Bonaventure  graveyard  near 
Savannah,  Georgia,  having  fasted  for  several 
days;  then  the  empty  stomach  seemed  to  chafe 
in  much  the  same  way  as  now,  and  a  some- 
what similar  tenderness  and  aching  was  pro- 
duced, hard  to  bear,  though  the  pain  was  not 
acute.  We  dream  of  bread,  a  sure  sign  we  need 
it.  Like  the  Indians,  we  ought  to  know  how  to 
get  the  starch  out  of  fern  and  saxifrage  stalks, 
lily  bulbs,  pine  bark,  etc.  Our  education  has 
been  sadly  neglected  for  many  generations. 
Wild  rice  would  be  good.  I  noticed  a  leersia  in 
79 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

wet  meadow  edges,  but  the  seeds  are  small. 
Acorns  are  not  ripe,  nor  pine  nuts,  nor  filberts. 
The  inner  bark  of  pine  or  spruce  might  be  tried. 
Drank  tea  until  half  intoxicated.  Man  seems 
to  crave  a  stimulant  when  anything  extraordi- 
nary is  going  on,  and  this  is  the  only  one  I  use. 
Billy  chews  great  quantities  of  tobacco,  which 
I  suppose  helps  to  stupefy  and  moderate  his 
misery.  We  look  and  listen  for  the  Don  every 
hour.  How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  his 
big  feet  would  be! 

In  the  warm,  hospitable  Sierra,  shepherds 
and  mountain  men  in  general,  as  far  as  I  have 
seen,  are  easily  satisfied  as  to  food  supplies  and 
bedding.  Most  of  them  are  heartily  content  to 
''rough  it,"  ignoring  Nature's  fineness  as  both- 
ersome or  unmanly.  The  shepherd's  bed  is 
often  only  the  bare  ground  and  a  pair  of  blan- 
kets, with  a  stone,  a  piece  of  wood,  or  a  pack- 
saddle  for  a  pillow.  In  choosing  the  spot,  he 
shows  less  care  than  the  dogs,  for  they  usually 
deliberate  before  making  up  their  minds  in  so 
important  an  afTair,  going  from  place  to  place, 
scraping  away  loose  sticks  and  pebbles,  and 
trying  for  comfort  by  making  many  changes, 
while  the  shepherd  casts  himself  down  any- 
where, seemingly  the  least  skilled  of  all  rest 
seekers.  His  food,  too,  even  when  he  has  all  he 
wants,  is  usually  far  from  delicate,  either  in  kind 

80 


A   BREAD   FAMINE 

or  cooking.  Beans,  bread  of  any  sort,  bacon, 
mutton,  dried  peaches,  and  sometimes  potatoes 
and  onions,  make  up  his  bill-of-fare,  the  two 
latter  articles  being  regarded  as  luxuries  on 
account  of  their  weight  as  compared  with  the 
nourishment  they  contain;  a  half-sack  or  so  of 
each  may  be  put  into  the  pack  in  setting  out 
from  the  home  ranch  and  in  a  few  days  they 
are  done.  Beans  are  the  main  standby,  port- 
able, wholesome,  and  capable  of  going  far,  be- 
sides being  easily  cooked,  although  curiously 
enough  a  great  deal  of  mystery  is  supposed  to 
lie  about  the  bean-pot.  No  two  cooks  quite 
agree  on  the  methods  of  making  beans  do  their 
best,  and,  after  petting  and  coaxing  and  nurs- 
ing the  savory  mess,  —  well  oiled  and  mellowed 
with  bacon  boiled  into  the  heart  of  it,  —  the 
proud  cook  will  ask,  after  dishing  out  a  quart 
or  two  for  trial,  "Well,  how  do  you  like  my 
beans?"  as  if  by  no  possibihty  could  they  be 
like  any  other  beans  cooked  in  the  same  way, 
but  must  needs  possess  some  special  virtue  of 
which  he  alone  is  master.  Molasses,  sugar,  or 
pepper  may  be  used  to  give  desired  flavors;  or 
the  first  water  may  be  poured  off  and  a  spoon- 
ful or  two  of  ashes  or  soda  added  to  dissolve  or 
soften  the  skins  more  fully,  according  to  vari- 
ous tastes  and  notions.  But,  like  casks  of  wine, 
no  two  potfuls  are  exactly  alike  to  every  palate. 
81 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Some  are  supposed  to  be  spoiled  by  the  moon, 
by  some  unlucky  day,  by  the  beans  having  been 
grown  on  soil  not  suitable;  or  the  whole  year 
may  be  to  blame  as  not  favorable  for  beans. 

Coffee,  too,  has  its  marvels  in  the  camp 
kitchen,  but  not  so  many,  and  not  so  inscru- 
table as  those  that  beset  the  bean-pot.  A  low, 
complacent  grunt  follows  a  mouthful  drawn  in 
with  a  gurgle,  and  the  remark  cast  forth  aim- 
lessly, ''That's  good  coffee."  Then  another 
gurgling  sip  and  repetition  of  the  judgment, 
*'  Yes,  sir,  that  is  good  coffee."  As  to  tea,  there 
are  but  two  kinds,  weak  and  strong,  the  stronger 
the  better.  The  only  remark  heard  is,  "That 
tea's  weak,"  otherwise  it  is  good  enough  and 
not  worth  mentioning.  If  it  has  been  boiled  an 
hour  or  two  or  smoked  on  a  pitchy  fire,  no 
matter,  —  who  cares  for  a  little  tannin  or  creo- 
sote? they  make  the  black  beverage  all  the 
stronger  and  more  attractive  to  tobacco-tanned 
palates. 

Sheep-camp  bread,  like  most  California 
camp  bread,  is  baked  in  Dutch  ovens,  some  of 
it  in  the  form  of  yeast  powder  biscuit,  an  un- 
wholesome sticky  compound  leading  straight 
to  dyspepsia.  The  greater  part,  however,  is 
fermented  with  sour  dough,  a  handful  from 
each  batch  being  saved  and  put  away  in  the 
mouth  of  the  flour  sack  to  inoculate  the  next. 
82 


A  BREAD  FAMINE 

The  oven  is  simply  a  cast-iron  pot,  about  five 
inches  deep  and  from  twelve  to  eighteen  inches 
wide.  After  the  batch  has  been  mixed  and 
kneaded  in  a  tin  pan  the  oven  is  slightly 
heated  and  rubbed  with  a  piece  of  tallow  or 
pork  rind.  The  dough  is  then  placed  in  it, 
pressed  out  against  the  sides,  and  left  to  rise. 
When  ready  for  baking  a  shovelful  of  coals  is 
spread  out  by  the  side  of  the  fire  and  the  oven 
set  upon  them,  while  another  shovelful  is  placed 
on  top  of  the  lid,  which  is  raised  from  time  to 
time  to  see  that  the  requisite  amount  of  heat 
is  being  kept  up.  With  care  good  bread  may 
be  made  in  this  way,  though  it  is  hable  to  be 
burned  or  to  be  sour,  or  raised  too  much,  and 
the  weight  of  the  oven  is  a  serious  objection. 

At  last  Don  Delaney  comes  doon  the  lang 
glen  —  hunger  vanishes,  we  turn  our  eyes  to 
the  mountains,  and  to-morrow  we  go  chmbing 
toward  cloudland. 

Never  while  anything  is  left  of  me  shall  this 
first  camp  be  forgotten.  It  has  fairly  grown 
into  me,  not  merely  as  memory  pictures,  but 
as  part  and  parcel  of  mind  and  body  alike. 
The  deep  hopper-like  hollow,  with  its  majeslic 
trees  through  which  all  the  wonderful  nights 
the  stars  poured  their  beauty.  The  flowery 
wildness  of  the  high  steep  slope  toward  Brown's 
Flat,  and  its  bloom-fragrance  descending  at 
83 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  close  of  the  still  days.  The  embowered 
river-reaches  with  their  multitude  of  voices 
making  melody,  the  stately  flow  and  rush 
and  glad  exulting  ons weeping  currents  caress- 
ing the  dipping  sedge-leaves  and  bushes  and 
mossy  stones,  swirling  in  pools,  dividing  against 
little  flowery  islands,  breaking  gray  and  white 
here  and  there,  ever  rejoicing,  yet  with  deep 
solemn  undertones  recalling  the  ocean  —  the 
brave  little  bird  ever  beside  them,  singing  with 
sweet  human  tones  among  the  waltzing  foam- 
bells,  and  like  a  blessed  evangel  explaining 
God's  love.  And  the  Pilot  Peak  Ridge,  its 
long  withdrawing  slopes  gracefully  modeled 
and  braided,  reaching  from  climate  to  climate, 
feathered  with  trees  that  are  the  kings  of  their 
race,  their  ranks  nobly  marshaled  to  view, 
spire  above  spire,  crown  above  crown,  waving 
their  long,  leafy  arms,  tossing  their  cones  like 
ringing  bells  —  blessed  sun-fed  mountaineers 
rejoicing  in  their  strength,  every  tree  tuneful, 
a  harp  for  the  winds  and  the  sun.  The  hazel 
and  buckthorn  pastures  of  the  deer,  the  sun- 
beaten  brows  purple  and  yellow  with  mint  and 
golden-rods,  carpeted  with  chamoebatia,  hum- 
ming with  bees.  And  the  dawns  and  sunrises 
and  sundowns  of  these  mountain  days,  —  the 
rose  light  creeping  higher  among  the  stars, 
changing  to  daffodil  yellow,  the  level  beams 

84 


A  BREAD  FAMINE 

bursting  forth,  streaming  across  the  ridges, 
touching  pine  after  pine,  awakening  and  warm- 
ing all  the  mighty  host  to  do  gladly  their 
shining  day's  work.  The  great  sun-gold  noons, 
the  alabaster  cloud-mountains,  the  landscape 
beaming  with  consciousness  like  the  face  of  a 
god.  The  sunsets,  when  the  trees  stood  hushed 
awaiting  their  good-night  blessings.  Divine, 
enduring,  unwastable  wealth. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TO   THE   HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

July  8.  Now  away  we  go  toward  the  top- 
most mountains.  Many  still,  small  voices,  as 
well  as  the  noon  thunder,  are  calling,  ''Come 
higher."  Farewell,  blessed  dell,  woods,  gar- 
dens, streams,  birds,  squirrels,  Uzards,  and  a 
thousand  others.  Farewell.  Farewell. 

Up  through  the  woods  the  hoofed  locusts 
streamed  beneath  a  cloud  of  brown  dust. 
Scarcely  were  they  driven  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  old  corral  ere  they  seemed  to  know 
that  at  last  they  were  going  to  new  pastures, 
and  rushed  wildly  ahead,  crowding  through 
gaps  in  the  brush,  jumping,  tumbling  Uke  ex- 
ulting hurrahing  flood-waters  escaping  through 
a  broken  dam.  A  man  on  each  flank  kept 
shouting  advice  to  the  leaders,  who  in  their 
famishing  condition  were  behaving  like  Gad- 
arene  swine;  two  others  drivers  were  busy  with 
stragglers,  helping  them  out  of  brush  tangles; 
the  Indian,  calm,  alert,  silently  watched  for 
wanderers  likely  to  be  overlooked;  the  two 
dogs  ran  here  and  there,  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  was  best  to  be  done,  while  the  Don, 
86 


r^ 


DIVIDE   BETWEEN   THK   TIOI.I  .MXE  AND   THE    MEKCED 
BELOW    HAZEL   (iREEN 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

soon  far  in  the  rear,  was  trying  to  keep  in 
sight  of  his  troublesome  wealth. 

As  soon  as  the  boundary  of  the  old  eaten- 
out  range  was  passed  the  hungry  horde  sud- 
denly became  calm,  like  a  mountain  stream 
in  a  meadow.  Thenceforward  they  were  al- 
lowed to  eat  their  way  as  slowly  as  they  wished, 
care  being  taken  only  to  keep  them  headed 
toward  the  summit  of  the  Merced  and  Tuol- 
umne divide.  Soon  the  two  thousand  flat- 
tened paunches  were  bulged  out  with  sweet- 
pea  vines  and  grass,  and  the  gaunt,  desperate 
creatures,  more  like  wolves  than  sheep,  be- 
came bland  and  governable,  while  the  howl- 
ing drivers  changed  to  gentle  shepherds,  and 
sauntered  in  peace. 

Toward  sundown  we  reached  Hazel  Green, 
a  charming  spot  on  the  summit  of  the  divid- 
ing ridge  between  the  basins  of  the  Merced  and 
Tuolumne,  where  there  is  a  small  brook  flow- 
ing through  hazel  and  dogwood  thickets  be- 
neath magnificent  silver  firs  and  pines.  Here, 
we  are  camped  for  the  night,  our  big  fire, 
heaped  high  with  rosiny  logs  and  branches, 
is  blazing  like  a  sunrise,  gladly  giving  back  the 
light  slowly  sifted  from  the  sunbeams  of  cen- 
turies of  summers;  and  in  the  glow  of  that 
old  sunlight  how  impressively  surrounding  ob- 
jects are  brought  forward  in  relief  against  the 

87 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

outer  darkness!  Grasses,  larkspurs,  columbines, 
lilies,  hazel  bushes,  and  the  great  trees  form 
a  circle  around  the  fire  like  thoughtful  spec- 
tators, gazing  and  hstening  with  human-like 
enthusiasm.  The  night  breeze  is  cool,  for  all 
day  we  have  been  climbing  into  the  upper  sky, 
the  home  of  the  cloud  mountains  we  so  long 
have  admired.  How  sweet  and  keen  the  air  I 
Every  breath  a  blessing.  Here  the  sugar  pine 
reaches  its  fullest  development  in  size  and 
beauty  and  number  of  individuals,  filling  every 
swell  and  hollow  and  down-plunging  ravine 
almost  to  the  exclusion  of  other  species.  A 
few  yellow  pines  are  still  to  be  found  as  com- 
panions, and  in  the  coolest  places  silver  firs; 
but  noble  as  these  are,  the  sugar  pine  is  king, 
and  spreads  long  protecting  arms  above  them 
while  they  rock  and  wave  in  sign  of  recogni- 
tion. 

We  have  now  reached  a  height  of  six  thou- 
sand feet.  In  the  forenoon  we  passed  along  a 
flat  part  of  the  dividing  ridge  that  is  planted 
with  manzanita  (Ardostaphylos) ,  some  speci- 
mens the  largest  I  have  seen.  I  measured  one, 
the  bole  of  which  is  four  feet  in  diameter  and 
only  eighteen  inches  high  from  the  ground, 
where  it  dissolves  into  many  wide-spreading 
branches  forming  a  broad  round  head  about 
ten  or  twelve  feet  high,  covered  with  clusters 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

of  small  narrow-throated  pink  bells.  The  loaves 
are  pale  green,  glandular,  and  set  on  edge  by  a 
twist  of  the  petiole.  The  branches  seem  naked; 
for  the  chocolate-colored  bark  is  very  smooth 
and  thin,  and  is  shed  off  in  flakes  that  curl 
when  dry.  The  wood  is  red,  close-grained, 
hard,  and  heavy.  I  wonder  how  old  these 
curious  tree-bushes  are,  probably  as  old  as  the 
great  pines.  Indians  and  bears  and  birds  and 
fat  grubs  feast  on  the  berries,  which  look  like 
small  apples,  often  rosy  on  one  side,  green  on 
the  other.  The  Indians  are  said  to  make  a  kind 
of  beer  or  cider  out  of  them.  There  are  many 
species.  This  one,  Arctosiaphylos  pungens,  is 
common  hereabouts.  No  need  have  they  to 
fear  the  wind,  so  low  they  are  and  steadfastly 
rooted.  Even  the  fires  that  sweep  the  woods 
seldom  destroy  them  utterly,  for  they  rise 
again  from  the  root,  and  some  of  the  dry  ridges 
they  grow  on  are  seldom  touched  by  fire.  I 
must  try  to  know  them  better. 

I  miss  my  river  songs  to-night.  Here  Hazel 
Creek  at  its  topmost  springs  has  a  voice  like  a 
bird.  The  wind-tones  in  the  great  trees  over- 
head are  strangely  impressive,  all  the  more 
because  not  a  leaf  stirs  below  them.  But  it 
growls  late,  and  I  must  to  bed.  The  camp  is 
silent;  everybody  asleep.  It  seems  extrava- 
gant to  spend  hours  so  precious  in  sleep.   "He 

89 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

giveth  his  beloved  sleep."  Pity  the  poor  be- 
loved needs  it,  weak,  weary,  forspent;  oh,  the 
pity  of  it,  to  sleep  in  the  midst  of  eternal, 
beautiful  motion  instead  of  gazing  forever, 
like  the  stars. 

July  9.  Exhilarated  with  the  mountain  air, 
I  feel  like  shouting  this  morning  with  excess 
of  wild  animal  joy.  The  Indian  lay  down 
away  from  the  fire  last  night,  without  blan- 
kets, having  nothing  on,  by  way  of  clothing, 
but  a  pair  of  blue  overalls  and  a  caHco  shirt 
wet  with  sweat.  The  night  air  is  chilly  at  this 
elevation,  and  we  gave  him  some  horse-blan- 
kets, but  he  did  n't  seem  to  care  for  them.  A 
fine  thing  to  be  independent  of  clothing  where 
it  is  so  hard  to  carry.  When  food  is  scarce,  he 
can  live  on  whatever  comes  in  his  way  —  a  few 
berries,  roots,  bird  eggs,  grasshoppers,  black 
ants,  fat  wasp  or  bumblebee  larvae,  without 
feeling  that  he  is  doing  anything  worth  men- 
tion, so  I  have  been  told. 

Our  course  to-day  was  along  the  broad  top 
of  the  main  ridge  to  a  hollow  beyond  Crane 
Flat.  It  is  scarce  at  all  rocky,  and  is  covered 
with  the  noblest  pines  and  spruces  I  have  yet 
seen.  Sugar  pines  from  six  to  eight  feet  in 
diameter  are  not  uncommon,  with  a  height  of 
two  hundred  feet  or  even  more.  The  silver 
firs  {Abies  concolor  and  A.  magnifica)  are  ex- 
90 


A  Silver  Fir,  or  Red  Fir  (Abies  Magnijicd) 


TO  THE  HIGH   MOUNTAINS 

ccodingly  beautiful,  especially  the  magnifica, 
which  becomes  more  abundant  the  higher  we 
go.  It  is  of  great  size,  one  of  the  most  notable 
in  every  way  of  the  giant  conifers  of  the 
Sierra.  I  saw  specimens  that  measured  seven 
feet  in  diameter  and  over  two  hundred  feet  in 
height,  while  the  average  size  for  what  might 
be  called  full-grown  mature  trees  can  hardly 
be  less  than  one  hundred  and  eighty  or  two 
hundred  feet  high  and  five  or  six  feet  in  diam- 
eter; and  with  these  noble  dimensions  there 
is  a  symmetry  and  perfection  of  finish  not  to 
be  seen  in  any  other  tree,  hereabout  at  least. 
The  branches  are  whorled  in  fives  mostly,  and 
stand  out  from  the  tall,  straight,  exquisitely 
tapered  bole  in  level  collars,  each  branch 
regularly  pinnated  Uke  the  fronds  of  ferns, 
and  densely  clad  with  leaves  all  around  the 
branchlets,  thus  giving  them  a  singularly  rich 
and  sumptuous  appearance.  The  extreme  top 
of  the  tree  is  a  thick  blunt  shoot  pointing 
straight  to  the  zenith  hke  an  admonishing 
finger.  The  cones  stand  erect  hke  casks  on 
the  upper  branches.  They  are  about  six  inches 
long,  three  in  diameter,  blunt,  velvety,  and 
cylindrical  in  form,  and  very  rich  and  precious 
looking.  The  seeds  are  about  three  quarters 
of  an  inch  long,  dark  reddish  brown  with  bril- 
liant iridescent  purple  wings,  and  when  ripe, 
91 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  cone  falls  to  pieces,  and  the  seeds  thus  set 
free  at  a  height  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  or 
two  hundred  feet  have  a  good  send  off  and 
may  fly  considerable  distances  in  a  good  breeze; 
and  it  is  when  a  good  breeze  is  blowing  that 
most  of  them  are  shaken  free  to  fly. 

The  other  species,  Abies  concolor,  attains 
nearly  as  great  a  height  and  thickness  as  the 
magnifica,  but  the  branches  do  not  form  such 
regular  whorls,  nor  are  they  so  exactly  pin- 
nated or  richly  leaf-clad.  Instead  of  growing 
all  around  the  branchlets,  the  leaves  are  mostly 
arranged  in  two  flat  horizontal  rows.  The 
cones  and  seeds  are  like  those  of  the  magnifica 
in  form  but  less  than  half  as  large.  The  bark 
of  the  magnifica  is  reddish  purple  and  closely 
furrowed,  that  of  the  concolor  gray  and  widely 
furrowed.  A  noble  pair. 

At  Crane  Flat  we  climbed  a  thousand  feet 
or  more  in  a  distance  of  about  two  miles,  the 
forest  growing  more  dense  and  the  silvery 
magnifica  fir  forming  a  still  greater  portion  of 
the  whole.  Crane  Flat  is  a  meadow  with  a 
wide  sandy  border  lying  on  the  top  of  the  di- 
vide. It  is  often  visited  by  blue  cranes  to  rest 
and  feed  on  their  long  journeys,  hence  the 
name.  It  is  about  half  a  mile  long,  draining 
into  the  Merced,  sedgy  in  the  middle,  with  a 
margin  bright  with  lilies,  columbines,  lark- 
92 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTIANS 

spurs,  lupines,  castilleia,  then  an  outer  zone 
of  dry,  gently  sloping  ground  starred  with  a 
multitude  of  small  flowers  —  eunanus,  mimu- 
lus,  gilia,  with  rosettes  of  spraguea,  and  tufts 
of  several  species  of  eriogonum  and  the  bril- 
liant zauschneria.  The  noble  forest  wall  about 
it  is  made  up  of  the  two  silver  firs  and  the 
yellow  and  sugar  pines,  which  here  seem  to 
reach  their  highest  pitch  of  beauty  and  gran- 
deur; for  the  elevation,  six  thousand  feet  or  a 
little  more,  is  not  too  great  for  the  sugar  and 
yellow  pines  or  too  low  for  the  magnifica  fir, 
while  the  concolor  seems  to  find  this  elevation 
the  best  possible.  About  a  mile  from  the  north 
end  of  the  flat  there  is  a  grove  of  Sequoia  gigan- 
tea,  the  king  of  all  the  conifers.  Furthermore, 
the  Douglas  spruce  {Pseudotsuga  Douglasii) 
and  Libocedrus  decurrens,  and  a  few  two-leaved 
pines,  occur  here  and  there,  forming  a  small 
part  of  the  forest.  Three  pines,  two  silver  firs, 
one  Douglas  spruce,  one  sequoia,  —  all  of 
them,  except  the  two-leaved  pine,  colossal 
trees,  —  are  found  here  together,  an  assem- 
blage of  conifers  unrivaled  on  the  globe. 

We  passed  a  number  of  charming  garden-like 
meadows  lying  on  top  of  the  divide  or  hanging 
like  ribbons  down  its  sides,  imbedded  in  the 
glorious  forest.  Some  are  taken  up  chiefly 
with  the  tall  white-flowered  Veratrum  Cali- 
93 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

fornicum,  with  boat-shaped  leaves  about  a 
foot  long,  eight  or  ten  inches  wide,  and  veined 
like  those  of  cypripedium,  —  a  robust,  hearty, 
liliaceous  plant,  fond  of  water  and  determined 
to  be  seen.  Columbine  and  larkspur  grow  on 
the  dryer  edges  of  the  meadows,  with  a  tall 
handsome  lupine  standing  waist-deep  in  long 
grasses  and  sedges.  Castilleias,  too,  of  several 
species  make  a  bright  show  with  beds  of  vio- 
lets at  their  feet.  But  the  glory  of  these  forest 
meadows  is  a  Uly  (L.  parvum).  The  tallest  are 
from  seven  to  eight  feet  high  with  magnificent 
racemes  of  ten  to  twenty  or  more  small  orange- 
colored  flowers;  they  stand  out  free  in  open 
ground,  with  just  enough  grass  and  other  com- 
panion plants  about  them  to  fringe  their  feet, 
and  show  them  off  to  best  advantage.  This  is 
a  grand  addition  to  my  Uly  acquaintances,  — 
a  true  mountaineer,  reaching  prime  vigor  and 
beauty  at  a  height  of  seven  thousand  feet  or 
thereabouts.  It  varies,  I  find,  very  much  in 
size  even  in  the  same  meadow,  not  only  with 
the  soil,  but  with  age.  I  saw  a  specimen  that 
had  only  one  flower,  and  another  within  a 
stone's  throw  had  twenty-five.  And  to  think 
that  the  sheep  should  be  allowed  in  these  lily 
meadows!  after  how  many  centuries  of  Na- 
ture's care  planting  and  watering  them,  tuck- 
ing the  bulbs  in  snugly  below  winter  frost, 
94 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

shading  the  tender  shoots  with  clouds  drawn 
above  them  hke  curtains,  pcjuring  refreshing 
rain,  making  them  perfect  in  beauty,  and  keep- 
ing them  safe  by  a  thousand  miracles;  yet, 
strange  to  say,  allowing  the  trampling  of  de- 
vastating sheep.  One  might  reasonably  look 
for  a  wall  of  fire  to  fence  such  gardens.  So 
extravagant  is  Nature  with  her  choicest  treas- 
ures, spending  plant  beauty  as  she  spends 
sunshine,  pouring  it  forth  into  land  and  sea, 
garden  and  desert.  And  so  the  beauty  of  lilies 
falls  on  angels  and  men,  bears  and  squirrels, 
wolves  and  sheep,  birds  and  bees,  but  as  far 
as  I  have  seen,  man  alone,  and  the  animals  he 
tames,  destroy  these  gardens.  Awkward,  lum- 
bering bears,  the  Don  tells  me,  love  to  wallow 
in  them  in  hot  weather,  and  deer  with  their 
sharp  feet  cross  them  again  and  again,  saun- 
tering and  feeding,  yet  never  a  Hly  have  I  seen 
spoiled  by  them.  Rather,  hke  gardeners,  they 
seem  to  cultivate  them,  pressing  and  dibbUng 
as  required.  Anyhow  not  a  leaf  or  petal  seems 
misplaced. 

The  trees  round  about  them  seem  as  per- 
fect in  beauty  and  form  as  the  lilies,  their 
boughs  whorled  like  lily  leaves  in  exact  order. 
This  evening,  as  usual,  the  glow  of  our  camj>- 
fire  is  working  enchantment  on  everything 
within  reach  of  its  rays.  Lying  beneath  the 
95 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

firs,  it  is  glorious  to  see  them  dipping  their  spires 
in  the  starry  sky,  the  sky  Hke  one  vast  Uly 
meadow  in  bloom!  How  can  I  close  my  eyes 
on  so  precious  a  night? 

July  10.  A  Douglas  squirrel,  peppery,  pun- 
gent autocrat  of  the  woods,  is  barking  over- 
head this  morning,  and  the  small  forest  birds, 
so  seldom  seen  when  one  travels  noisily,  are 
out  on  sunny  branches  along  the  edge  of  the 
meadow  getting  warm,  taking  a  sun  bath  and 
dew  bath  —  a  fine  sight.  How  charming  the 
sprightly  confident  looks  and  ways  of  these 
little  feathered  people  of  the  trees !  They  seem 
sure  of  dainty,  wholesome  breakfasts,  and 
where  are  so  many  breakfasts  to  come  from? 
How  helpless  should  we  find  ourselves  should 
we  try  to  set  a  table  for  them  of  such  buds, 
seeds,  insects,  etc.,  as  would  keep  them  in  the 
pure  wild  health  they  enjoy!  Not  a  headache 
or  any  other  ache  amongst  them,  I  guess.  As 
for  the  irrepressible  Douglas  squirrels,  one 
never  thinks  of  their  breakfasts  or  the  possi- 
bility of  hunger,  sickness  or  death ;  rather  they 
seem  like  stars  above  chance  or  change,  even 
though  we  may  see  them  at  times  busy  gather- 
ing burrs,  working  hard  for  a  living. 

On  through  the  forest  ever  higher  we  go,  a 
cloud  of  dust  dimming  the  way,  thousands  of 
feet  trampling  leaves  and  flowers,  but  in  this 
96 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

mighty  wilderness  they  seem  but  a  feeble  band, 
and  a  thousand  gardens  will  escape  their 
blighting  touch.  They  cannot  hurt  the  trees, 
though  some  of  the  seedlings  suffer,  and  should 
the  woolly  locusts  be  greatly  multiplied,  as 
on  account  of  dollar  value  they  are  likely  to 
be,  then  the  forests,  too,  may  in  time  be 
destroyed.  Only  the  sky  will  then  be  safe, 
though  hid  from  view  by  dust  and  smoke,  in- 
cense of  a  bad  sacrifice.  Poor,  helpless,  hun- 
gry sheep,  in  great  part  misbegotten,  without 
good  right  to  be,  semi-manufactured,  made 
less  by  God  than  man,  born  out  of  time  and 
place,  yet  their  voices  are  strangely  human 
and  call  out  one's  pity. 

Our  way  is  still  along  the  Merced  and  Tuol- 
umne divide,  the  streams  on  our  right  going 
to  swell  the  songful  Yosemite  River,  those  on 
our  left  to  the  songful  Tuolumne,  slipping 
through  sunny  carex  and  lily  meadows,  and 
breaking  into  song  down  a  thousand  ravines 
almost  as  soon  as  they  are  born.  A  more  tune- 
ful set  of  streams  surely  nowhere  exists,  or 
more  sparkling  crystal  pure,  now  gliding  with 
tinkling  whisper,  now  with  merry  dimpling 
rush,  in  and  out  through  sunshine  and  shade, 
shimmering  in  pools,  uniting  their  currents, 
boimoing,  dancing  from  form  to  form  over 
cliffs  antl  inclines,  ever  more  beautiful  the 
97 


0 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

farther  they  go  until  they  pour  into  the  main 
glacial  rivers. 

All  day  I  have  been  gazing  in  growing  ad- 
miration at  the  noble  groups  of  the  magnifi- 
cent silver  fir  which  more  and  more  is  taking 
the  ground  to  itself.  The  woods  above  Crane 
Flat  still  continue  comparatively  open,  letting 
in  the  sunshine  on  the  brown  needle-strewn 
ground.  Not  only  are  the  individual  trees  ad- 
mirable in  symmetry  and  superb  in  foUage 
and  port,  but  half  a  dozen  or  more  often  form 
temple  groves  in  which  the  trees  are  so  nicely 
graded  in  size  and  position  as  to  seem  one. 
Here,  indeed.  Is  the  tree-lover's  paradise.  The 
dullest  eye  in  the  world  must  surely  be  quick- 
ened by  such  trees  as  these. 

Fortunately  the  sheep  need  little  attention, 
as  they  are  driven  slowly  and  allowed  to  nip 
and  nibble  as  they  hke.  Since  leaving  Hazel 
Green  we  have  been  following  the  Yosemite 
trail;  visitors  to  the  famous  valley  coming  by 
way  of  Coulterville  and  Chinese  Camp  pass 
this  way  —  the  two  trails  uniting  at  Crane 
Flat  —  and  enter  the  valley  on  the  north  side. 
Another  trail  enters  on  the  south  side  by  way 
of  Mariposa.  The  tourists  we  saw  were  in 
parties  of  from  three  or  four  to  fifteen  or 
twenty,  mounted  on  mules  or  small  mustang 
ponies.  A  strange  show  they  made,  winding 
98 


TO  THE  HIGH   MOUNTAINS 

single  file  through  the  solemn  woods  in  gaudy 
attire,  scaring  the  wild  creatures,  and  one 
might  fancy  that  even  the  great  pines  would 
be  disturbed  and  groan  aghast.  But  what  may 
we  say  of  ourselves  and  the  flock? 

We  are  now  camped  at  Tamarack  Flat, 
within  four  or  five  miles  of  the  lower  end  of 
Yosemite.  Here  is  another  fine  meadow  em- 
bosomed in  the  woods,  with  a  deep,  clear 
stream  gliding  through  it,  its  banks  rounded 
and  beveled  with  a  thatch  of  dipping  sedges. 
The  flat  is  named  after  the  two-leaved  pine 
{Pinus  conioria,  var.  Murray  ana),  common 
here,  especially  around  the  cool  margin  of  the 
meadow.  On  rocky  ground  it  is  a  rough,  thick- 
set tree,  about  forty  to  sixty  feet  high  and  one  to 
three  feet  in  diameter,  bark  thin  and  gummy, 
branches  rather  naked,  tassels,  leaves,  and 
cones  small.  But  in  damp,  rich  soil  it  grows 
close  and  slender,  and  reaches  a  height  at 
times  of  nearly  a  hundred  feet.  Specimens 
only  six  inches  in  diameter  at  the  ground  are 
often  fifty  or  sixty  feet  in  height,  as  slender  and 
sharp  in  outline  as  arrows,  like  the  true  tama- 
rack (larch)  of  the  Eastern  States;  hence  the 
name,  though  it  is  a  pine. 

July  11.  The  Don  has  gone  ahead  on  one  of 
the  pack  animals  to  spy  out  the  land  to  the 
north  of  Yosemite  in  search  of  the  best  point 

99 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

for  a  central  camp.  Much  higher  than  this 
we  cannot  now  go,  for  the  upper  pastures,  said 
to  be  better  than  any  hereabouts,  are  still 
buried  in  heavy  winter  snow.  Glad  I  am  that 
camp  is  to  be  fixed  in  the  Yosemite  region,  for 
many  a  glorious  ramble  I'll  have  along  the 
top  of  the  walls,  and  then  what  landscapes  I 
shall  find  with  their  new  mountains  and 
caiions,  forests  and  gardens,  lakes  and  streams 
and  falls. 

We  are  now  about  seven  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  the  nights  are  so  cool  we  have  to 
pile  coats  and  extra  clothing  on  top  of  our  blan- 
kets. Tamarack  Creek  is  icy  cold,  delicious, 
exhilarating  champagne  water.  It  is  flowing 
bank-full  in  the  meadow  with  silent  speed,  but 
only  a  few  hundred  yards  below  our  camp  the 
ground  is  bare  gray  granite  strewn  with  bould- 
ers, large  spaces  being  without  a  single  tree 
or  only  a  small  one  here  and  there  anchored 
in  narrow  seams  and  cracks.  The  boulders, 
many  of  them  very  large,  are  not  in  piles  or 
scattered  like  rubbish  among  loose  crumbling 
debris  as  if  weathered  out  of  the  solid  as 
boulders  of  disintegration;  they  mostly  occur 
singly,  and  are  lying  on  a  clean  pavement  on 
which  the  sunshine  falls  in  a  glare  that  con- 
trasts with  the  shimmer  of  light  and  shade  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  in  the  leafy  woods. 

100 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

And,  strange  to  say,  these  boulders  lying  so 
still  and  deserted,  with  no  moving  force  near 
them,  no  boulder  carrier  anywhere  in  sight, 
were  nevertheless  brought  from  a  distance,  as 
difference  in  color  and  composition  shows, 
quarried  and  carried  and  laid  down  here  each 
in  its  place;  nor  have  they  stirred,  most  of 
them,  through  calm  and  storm  since  first  they 
arrived.  They  look  lonely  here,  strangers  in  a 
strange  land,  —  huge  blocks,  angular  moun- 
tain chips,  the  largest  twenty  or  thirty  feet 
in  diameter,  the  chips  that  Nature  has  made 
in  modehng  her  landscapes,  fashioning  the 
forms  of  her  mountains  and  valleys.  And  with 
what  tool  were  they  quarried  and  carried? 
On  the  pavement  we  find  its  marks.  The  most 
resisting  unweathered  portion  of  the  surface 
is  scored  and  striated  in  a  rigidly  parallel  way, 
indicating  that  the  region  has  been  ovcrswcpt 
by  a  glacier  from  the  northeastward,  grinding 
down  the  general  mass  of  the  mountains,  scor- 
ing and  pohshing,  producing  a  strange,  raw, 
wiped  appearance,  and  dropping  whatever 
boulders  it  chanced  to  be  carrying  at  the  time 
it  was  melted  at  the  close  of  the  Glacial  Period. 
A  fine  discovery  this.  As  for  the  forests  we 
have  been  passing  through,  they  are  probably 
growing  on  deposits  of  soil  most  of  which  has 
been  laid  down  by  this  same  ice  agent  in  the 

101 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

form  of  moraines  of  different  sorts,  now  in 
great  part  disintegrated  and  outspread  by 
post-glacial  weathering. 

Out  of  the  grassy  meadow  and  down  over 
this  ice-planed  granite  runs  the  glad  young 
Tamarack  Creek,  rejoicing,  exulting,  chanting, 
dancing  in  white,  glowing,  irised  falls  and 
cascades  on  its  way  to  the  Merced  Canon,  a 
few  miles  below  Yosemite,  falling  more  than 
three  thousand  feet  in  a  distance  of  about  two 
miles. 

All  the  Merced  streams  are  wonderful 
singers,  and  Yosemite  is  the  centre  where  the 
main  tributaries  meet.  From  a  point  about 
half  a  mile  from  our  camp  we  can  see  into  the 
lower  end  of  the  famous  valley,  with  its  won- 
derful cliffs  and  groves,  a  grand  page  of  moun- 
tain manuscript  that  I  would  gladly  give  my 
life  to  be  able  to  read.  How  vast  it  seems,  how 
short  human  life  when  we  happen  to  think  of 
it,  and  how  little  we  may  learn,  however  hard 
we  try!  Yet  why  bewail  our  poor  inevitable 
ignorance?  Some  of  the  external  beauty  is  al- 
ways in  sight,  enough  to  keep  every  fibre  of  us 
tingling,  and  this  we  are  able  to  gloriously 
enjoy  though  the  methods  of  its  creation  may 
lie  beyond  our  ken.  Sing  on,  brave  Tamarack 
Creek,  fresh  from  your  snowy  fountains, 
plash  and  swirl  and  dance  to  your  fate  in  the 
102 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

sea ;  bathing,  cheering  every  living  thing  along 
your  way. 

Have  greatly  enjoyed  all  this  huge  day, 
sauntering  and  seeing,  steeping  in  the  moun- 
tain influences,  sketching,  noting,  pressing 
flowers,  drinking  ozone  and  Tamarack  water. 
Found  the  white  fragrant  Washington  lily,  the 
finest  of  all  the  Sierra  lilies.  Its  bulbs  are  bur- 
ied in  shaggy  chaparral  tangles,  I  suppose  for 
safety  from  pawing  bears;  and  its  magnificent 
panicles  sway  and  rock  over  the  top  of  the 
rough  snow-pressed  bushes,  while  big,  bold, 
blunt-nosed  bees  drone  and  mumble  in  its 
polleny  befls.  A  lovely  flower,  worth  going 
hungry  and  footsore  endless  miles  to  see.  The 
whole  world  seems  richer  now  that  I  have 
found  this  plant  in  so  noble  a  landscape. 

A  log  house  serves  to  mark  a  claim  to  the 
Tamarack  meadow,  which  may  become  val- 
uable as  a  station  in  case  travel  to  Yosemite 
should  greatly  increase.  Belated  parties  occa- 
sionally stop  here.  A  white  man  with  an  In- 
dian woman  is  holding  possession  of  the  place. 

Sauntered  up  the  meadow  about  sundown, 
out  of  sight  of  camp  and  sheep  and  all  human 
mark,  into  the  deep  peace  of  the  solemn  old 
woods,  everything  glowing  with  Heaven's  un- 
quenchable enthusiasm. 

July  12.  The  Don  has  returned,  and  again 
103 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

we  go  on  pilgrimage.  "Looking  over  the  Yo- 
semite  Creek  country,"  he  said,  ''from  the  tops 
of  the  hills  you  see  nothing  but  rocks  and 
patches  of  trees;  but  when  you  go  down  into 
the  rocky  desert  you  find  no  end  of  small  grassy 
banks  and  meadows,  and  so  the  country  is  not 
half  so  lean  as  it  looks.  There  we  '11  go  and  stay 
until  the  snow  is  melted  from  the  upper  country. ' ' 

I  was  glad  to  hear  that  the  high  snow  made 
a  stay  in  the  Yosemite  region  necessary,  for 
I  am  anxious  to  see  as  much  of  it  as  possible. 
What  fine  times  I  shall  have  sketching,  study- 
ing plants  and  rocks,  and  scrambling  about 
the  brink  of  the  great  valley  alone,  out  of  sight 
and  sound  of  camp! 

We  saw  another  party  of  Yosemite  tourists 
to-day.  Somehow  most  of  these  travelers  seem 
to  care  but  little  for  the  glorious  objects  about 
them,  though  enough  to  spend  time  and  money 
and  endure  long  rides  to  see  the  famous  val- 
ley. And  when  they  are  fairly  within  the 
mighty  walls  of  the  temple  and  hear  the 
psalms  of  the  falls,  they  will  forget  themselves 
and  become  devout.  Blessed,  indeed,  should 
be  every  pilgrim  in  these  holy  mountains! 

We  moved  slowly  eastward  along  the  Mono 
Trail,  and  early  in  the  afternoon  unpacked 
and  camped  on  the  bank  of  Cascade  Creek. 
The  Mono  Trail   crosses  the  range  by  the 

104 


TO  THE  HIGH   MOUNTAINS 

Bloody  Canon  Pass  to  gold  mines  near  the 
north  end  of  Mono  Lake.  These  mines  were 
reported  to  be  rich  when  first  discovered,  and 
a  grand  rush  took  place,  making  a  trail  neces- 
sary. A  few  small  bridges  were  built  over 
streams  where  fording  was  not  practicable 
on  account  of  the  softness  of  the  bottom,  sec- 
tions of  fallen  trees  cut  out,  and  lanes  made 
through  thickets  wide  enough  to  allow  the 
passage  of  bulky  packs;  but  over  the  greater 
part  of  the  way  scarce  a  stone  or  shovelful  of 
earth  has  been  moved. 

The  woods  we  passed  through  are  composed 
almost  wholly  of  Abies  magnifica,  the  compan- 
ion species,  concolor,  being  mostly  left  behind 
on  account  of  altitude,  while  the  increasing 
elevation  seems  grateful  to  the  charming  mag- 
nifica. No  words  can  do  anything  hke  justice  to 
this  noble  tree.  At  one  place  many  had  fallen 
during  some  heavy  wind-storm,  owing  to  the 
loose  sandy  character  of  the  soil,  which  offered 
no  secure  anchorage.  The  soil  is  mostly  decom- 
posed and  disintegrated  moraine  material. 

The  sheep  are  lying  down  on  a  bare  rocky 
spot  such  as  they  like,  chewing  the  cud  in 
grassy  peace.  Cooking  is  going  on,  appetites 
growing  keener  every  day.  No  lowlander  can 
appreciate  the  mountain  appetite,  and  the 
facihty  with  which  heavy  food  called  "grub" 
105 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

is  disposed  of.  Eating,  walking,  resting,  seem 
alike  delightful,  and  one  feels  inclined  to  shout 
lustily  on  rising  in  the  morning  like  a  crowing 
cock.  Sleep  and  digestion  as  clear  as  the  air. 
Fine  spicy  plush  boughs  for  bedding  we  shall 
have  to-night,  and  a  glorious  lullaby  from  this 
cascading  creek.  Never  was  stream  more  fit- 
tingly named,  for  as  far  as  I  have  traced  it 
above  and  below  our  camp  it  is  one  continu- 
ous bouncing,  dancing,  white  bloom  of  cas- 
cades. And  at  the  very  last  unwearied  it  fin- 
ishes its  wild  course  in  a  grand  leap  of  three 
hundred  feet  or  more  to  the  bottom  of  the 
main  Yosemite  canon  near  the  fall  of  Tama- 
rack Creek,  a  few  miles  below  the  foot  of  the 
valley.  These  falls  almost  rival  some  of  the 
far-famed  Yosemite  falls.  Never  shall  I  for- 
get these  glad  cascade  songs,  the  low  booming, 
the  roaring,  the  keen,  silvery  clashing  of  the 
cool  water  rushing  exulting  from  form  to  form 
beneath  irised  spray;  or  in  the  deep  still  night 
seen  white  in  the  darkness,  and  its  multitude 
of  voices  sounding  still  more  impressively  sub- 
lime. Here  I  find  the  Uttle  water  ouzel  as 
much  at  home  as  any  linnet  in  a  leafy  grove, 
seeming  to  take  the  greater  delight  the  more 
boisterous  the  stream.  The  dizzy  precipices, 
the  swift  dashing  energy  displayed,  and  the 
thunder  tones  of  the  sheer  falls  are  awe  inspir- 
106 


TO  THE  HIGH   MOUNTAINS 

ing,  but  there  is  nothing  awful  about  this  little 
bird.  Its  song  is  sweet  and  low,  and  all  its  ges- 
tures, as  it  flits  about  amid  the  loud  uproar, 
bespeak  strength  and  peace  and  joy.  Con- 
templating these  darhngs  of  Nature  coming 
forth  from  spray-sprinkled  nests  on  the  brink 
of  savage  streams,  Samson's  riddle  comes  to 
mind,  "Out  of  the  strong  cometh  forth  sweet- 
ness." A  yet  finer  bloom  is  this  little  bird  than 
the  foam-bells  in  eddying  pools.  Gentle  bird, 
a  precious  message  you  bring  me.  We  may 
miss  the  meaning  of  the  torrent,  but  thy  sweet 
voice,  only  love  is  in  it. 

July  13.  Our  course  all  day  has  been  east- 
ward over  the  rim  of  Yosemite  Creek  basin 
and  down  about  halfway  to  the  bottom,  where 
we  have  encamped  on  a  sheet  of  glacier-pol- 
ished granite,  a  firm  foundation  for  beds.  Saw 
the  tracks  of  a  very  large  bear  on  the  trail, 
and  the  Don  talked  of  bears  in  general.  I  said 
I  should  like  to  see  the  maker  of  these  im- 
mense tracks  as  he  marched  along,  and  follow 
him  for  days,  without  disturbing  him,  to  learn 
something  of  the  Ufe  of  this  master  beast  of 
the  wilderness.  Lambs,  the  Don  told  me,  born 
in  the  lowland,  that  never  saw  or  heard  a  bear, 
snort  and  run  in  terror  when  they  catch  the 
scent,  showing  how  fully  they  have  inherited 
a  knowledge  of  their  enemy.    Hogs,  mules, 

107 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

horses,  and  cattle  are  afraid  of  bears,  and  are 
seized  with  ungovernable  terror  when  they  ap- 
proach, particularly  hogs  and  mules.  Hogs 
are  frequently  driven  to  pastures  in  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Coast  Range  and  Sierra  where 
acorns  are  abundant,  and  are  herded  in  droves 
of  hundreds  like  sheep.  When  a  bear  comes 
to  the  range  they  promptly  leave  it,  emigrat- 
ing in  a  body,  usually  in  the  night  time,  the 
keepers  being  powerless  to  prevent;  they  thus 
show  more  sense  than  sheep,  that  simply 
scatter  in  the  rocks  and  brush  and  await  their 
fate.  Mules  flee  Uke  the  wind  with  or  without 
riders  when  they  see  a  bear,  and,  if  picketed, 
sometimes  break  their  necks  in  trying  to  break 
their  ropes,  though  I  have  not  heard  of  bears 
killing  mules  or  horses.  Of  hogs  they  are  said 
to  be  particularly  fond,  bolting  small  ones, 
bones  and  all,  without  choice  of  parts.  In  par- 
ticular, Mr.  Delaney  assured  me  that  all  kinds 
of  bears  in  the  Sierra  are  very  shy,  and  that 
hunters  found  far  greater  difficulty  in  getting 
within  gunshot  of  them  than  of  deer  or  indeed 
any  other  animal  in  the  Sierra,  and  if  I  was 
anxious  to  see  much  of  them  I  should  have  to 
wait  and  watch  with  endless  Indian  patience 
and  pay  no  attention  to  anything  else. 

Night  is  coming  on,  the  gray  rock  waves 
are  growing  dim  in  the  twilight.  How  raw  and 

108 


TO  THE  HIGH  MOUNTAINS 

young  this  region  appears!  Had  the  ice  sheet 
that  swept  over  it  vanished  but  yesterday,  its 
traces  on  the  more  resisting  portions  about 
our  camp  could  hardly  be  more  distinct  than 
they  now  are.  The  horses  and  sheep  and  all  of 
us,  indeed,  shpped  on  the  smoothest  places. 

July  14.  How  deathlike  is  sleep  in  this 
mountain  air,  and  quick  the  awakening  into 
newness  of  hfe!  A  calm  dawn,  yellow  and  pur- 
ple, then  floods  of  sun-gold,  making  every- 
thing tingle  and  glow. 

In  an  hour  or  two  we  came  to  Yosemite 
Creek,  the  stream  that  makes  the  greatest  of  all 
the  Yosemite  falls.  It  is  about  forty  feet  wide 
at  the  Mono  Trail  crossing,  and  now  about  four 
feet  in  average  depth,  flowing  about  three  miles 
an  hour.  The  distance  to  the  verge  of  the 
Yosemite  wall,  where  it  makes  its  tremendous 
plunge,  is  only  about  two  miles  from  here. 
Calm,  beautiful,  and  nearly  silent,  it  glides 
with  stately  gestures,  a  dense  growth  of  the 
slender  two-leaved  pine  along  its  banks,  and  a 
fringe  of  willow,  purple  spirea,  sedges,  daisies, 
lilies,  and  columbines.  Some  of  the  sedges  and 
willow  boughs  dip  into  the  current,  and  just  out- 
side of  the  close  ranks  of  trees  there  is  a  sunny 
flat  of  washed  gravelly  sand  which  seems  to 
have  been  deposited  by  some  ancient  flood.  It 
is  covered  with  millions  of  erethrea,  eriogonum, 
109 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  oxytheca,  with  more  flowers  than  leaves, 
forming  an  even  growth,  slightly  dimpled  and 
nifilcd  hero  and  there  by  rosettes  of  Spraguea 
umbellata.  Back  of  this  flowery  strip  there  is 
a  wavy  upsloping  plain  of  solid  granite,  so 
smoothly  ice-polished  in  many  places  that  it 
glistens  in  the  sun  like  glass.  In  shallow  hol- 
lows there  are  patches  of  trees,  mostly  the  rough 
form  of  the  two-leaved  pine,  rather  scrawny 
looking  where  there  is  little  or  no  soil.  Also 
a  few  junipers  (Juniperus  occidentalis) ,  short 
and  stout,  with  bright  cinnamon-colored  bark 
and  gray  foliage,  standing  alone  mostly,  on  the 
sun-beaten  pavement,  safe  from  fire,  clinging  by 
slight  joints,  —  a  sturdy  storm-enduring  moun- 
taineer of  a  tree,  living  on  sunshine  and  snow, 
maintaining  tough  health  on  this  diet  for  per- 
haps more  than  a  thousand  years. 

Up  towards  the  head  of  the  basin  I  see  groups 
of  domes  rising  above  the  wavelike  ridges,  and 
some  picturesque  castellated  masses,  and  dark 
strips  and  patches  of  silver  fir,  indicating  de- 
posits of  fertile  soil.  Would  that  I  could  com- 
mand the  time  to  study  them!  What  rich  ex- 
cursions one  could  make  in  this  well-defined 
basin!  Its  glacial  inscriptions  and  sculptures, 
how  marvelous  they  seem,  how  noble  the  stud- 
ies they  offer!  I  tremble  with  excitement  in 
the  dawn  of  these  glorious  mountain  sublim- 

110 


TO  THE   IITGII   MOUNTAINS 

itics,  but  I  can  only  gaze  and  wonder,  and, 
like  a  child,  gather  here  and  there  a  hly,  half 
hoping  I  may  be  able  to  study  and  learn  in 
years  to  come. 

The  diivers  and  dogs  had  a  lively,  laborious 
time  getting  the  sheep  across  the  creek,  the 
second  large  stream  thus  far  that  they  have 
been  compelled  to  cross  without  a  bridge;  the 
first  being  the  North  Fork  of  the  Merced  near 
Bower  Cave.    Men  and  dogs,  shouting  and 
barking,  drove  the  timid,  water-fearing  crea- 
tures in  a  close  crowd  against  the  bank,  but 
not  one  of  the  flock  would  launch  away.  While 
thus  jammed,  the  Don  and  the  shepherd  rushed 
through   the   frightened   crowd   to   stampede 
those  in  front,  but  this  would  only  cause  a 
break  backward,  and  away  they  would  scamper 
through  the  stream-bank  trees  and  scatter  over 
the  rocky  pavement.  Then  with  the  aid  of  the 
dogs  the  runaways  would  again  be  gathered 
and  made  to  face  the  stream,  and  again  the 
compacted  mass  would  break  away,  amid  wild 
shouting  and  barking  that  might  well  have  dis- 
turbed the  stream  itself  and  marred  the  music 
of  its  falls,  to  which  visitors  no  doubt  from  all 
quarters  of  the  globe  were  listening.    "Hold 
them  there!   Now  hold  them  there!"  shouted 
the  Don;  "the  front  ranks  will  soon  tire  of  the 
pressure,  and  be  glad  to  take  to  the  water,  then 
111 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

all  will  jump  in  and  cross  in  a  hurry."  But  they 
did  nothing  of  the  kind;  they  only  avoided  the 
pressure  by  breaking  back  in  scores  and  hun- 
dreds, leaving  the  beauty  of  the  banks  sadly 
trampled. 

If  only  one  could  be  got  to  cross  over,  all 
would  make  haste  to  follow;  but  that  one  could 
not  be  found.  A  lamb  was  caught,  carried 
across,  and  tied  to  a  bush  on  the  opposite  bank, 
where  it  cried  piteously  for  its  mother.  But 
though  greatly  concerned,  the  mother  only 
called  it  back.  That  play  on  maternal  affection 
failed,  and  we  began  to  fear  that  we  should  be 
forced  to  make  a  long  roundabout  drive  and 
cross  the  wide-spread  tributaries  of  the  creek 
in  succession.  This  would  require  several  days, 
but  it  had  its  advantages,  for  I  was  eager  to  see 
the  sources  of  so  famous  a  stream.  Don  Quix- 
ote, however,  determined  that  they  must  ford 
just  here,  and  inomediately  began  a  sort  of  siege 
by  cutting  down  slender  pines  on  the  bank 
and  building  a  corral  barely  large  enough  to 
hold  the  flock  when  well  pressed  together.  And 
as  the  stream  would  form  one  side  of  the  corral 
he  believed  that  they  could  easily  be  forced  into 
the  water. 

In  a  few  hours  the  inclosure  was  completed, 
and  the  silly  animals  were  driven  in  and 
rammed  hard  against  the  brink  of  the  ford. 

112 


TO  THE  HIGH   MOUNTAINS 

Then  the  Don,  forcing  a  way  through  the  com- 
pacted mass,  pitched  a  few  of  the  terrified  un- 
fortunates into  the  stream  by  main  strength; 
but  instead  of  crossing  over,  they  swam  about 
close  to  the  bank,  making  desi)erate  attempts 
to  get  back  into  the  flock.  Then  a  dozen  or 
more  were  shoved  ofT,  and  the  Don,  tall  like  a 
crane  and  a  good  natural  wader,  jumped  in 
after  them,  seized  a  struggling  wether,  and 
dragged  it  to  the  opposite  shore.  But  no  sooner 
did  he  let  it  go  than  it  jumped  into  the  stream 
and  swam  back  to  its  frightened  companions 
in  the  corral,  thus  manifesting  sheep-nature  as 
unchangeable  as  gravitation.  Pan  with  his 
pipes  would  have  had  no  better  luck,  I  fear. 
We  were  now  pretty  well  baffled.  The  silly 
creatures  would  sufTer  any  sort  of  death  rather 
than  cross  that  stream.  Calling  a  council,  the 
dripping  Don  declared  that  starvation  was  now 
the  only  hkely  scheme  to  try,  and  that  we 
might  as  well  camp  here  in  comfort  and  let  the 
besieged  flock  grow  hungry  and  cool,  and  come 
to  their  senses,  if  they  had  any.  In  a  few  min- 
utes after  being  thus  let  alone,  an  adventurer 
in  the  foremost  rank  plunged  in  and  swam 
bravely  to  the  farther  shore.  Then  suddenly 
all  rushed  in  pell-mell  together,  trampling  one 
another  under  water,  while  we  vainly  tried  to 
hold  them  back.    The  Don  jumped  into  the 

113 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

thickest  of  the  gasping,  gurgling,  drowning 
mass,  and  shoved  them  right  and  left  as  if  each 
sheep  was  a  piece  of  floating  timber.  The  cur- 
rent also  served  to  drift  them  apart ;  a  long  bent 
column  was  soon  formed,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
all  were  over  and  began  baaing  and  feeding  as 
if  nothing  out  of  the  common  had  happened. 
That  none  were  drowned  seems  wonderful.  I 
fully  expected  that  hundreds  would  gain  the 
romantic  fate  of  being  swept  into  Yosemite 
over  the  highest  waterfall  in  the  world. 

As  the  day  was  far  spent,  we  camped  a  little 
way  back  from  the  ford,  and  let  the  dripping 
flock  scatter  and  feed  until  sundown.  The 
wool  is  dry  now,  and  calm,  cud-chewing  peace 
has  fallen  on  all  the  comfortable  band,  leaving 
no  trace  of  the  watery  battle.  I  have  seen  fish 
driven  out  of  the  water  with  less  ado  than  was 
made  in  driving  these  animals  into  it.  Sheep 
brain  must  surely  be  poor  stuff.  Compare  to- 
day's exhibition  with  the  performances  of  deer 
swimming  quietly  across  broad  and  rapid  rivers, 
and  from  island  to  island  in  seas  and  lakes;  or 
with  dogs,  or  even  with  the  squirrels  that,  as 
the  story  goes,  cross  the  Mississippi  River  on 
selected  chips,  with  tails  for  sails  comfortably 
trimmed  to  the  breeze.  A  sheep  can  hardly  be 
called  an  animal;  an  entire  flock  is  required  to 
make  one  foolish  individual. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   TOSEMITE 

July  15.  Followed  the  Mono  Trail  up  the 
eastern  rim  of  the  basin  nearly  to  its  summit, 
then  turned  off  southward  to  a  small  shallow 
valley  that  extends  to  the  edge  of  the  Yosemite, 
which  we  reached  about  noon,  and  encamped. 
After  luncheon  I  made  haste  to  high  ground, 
and  from  the  top  of  the  ridge  on  the  west  side 
of  Indian  Caiion  gained  the  noblest  view  of  the 
summit  peaks  I  have  ever  yet  enjoyed.  Nearly 
all  the  upper  basin  of  the  Merced  was  displayed, 
with  its  sublime  domes  and  canons,  dark  up- 
sweeping forests,  and  glorious  array  of  white 
peaks  deep  in  the  sky,  every  feature  glowing, 
radiating  beauty  that  pours  into  our  flesh  and 
bones  like  heat  rays  from  fire.  Sunshine  over 
all ;  no  breath  of  wind  to  stir  the  brooding  calm. 
Never  before  had  I  seen  so  glorious  a  landscape, 
so  boundless  an  affluence  of  subhme  mountain 
beauty.  The  most  extravagant  description  1 
might  give  of  this  view  to  any  one  who  has  not 
seen  similar  landscapes  with  his  own  eyes  would 
not  so  much  as  hint  its  grandeur  and  the  spirit- 
ual glow  that  covered  it.  I  shouted  and  gestic- 

115 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ulated  in  a  wild  burst  of  ecstasy,  much  to  the 
astonishment  of  St.  Bernard  Carlo,  who  came 
running  up  to  me,  manifesting  in  his  intelUgent 
eyes  a  puzzled  concern  that  was  very  ludicrous, 
which  had  the  effect  of  bringing  me  to  my 
senses.  A  brown  bear,  too,  it  would  seem,  had 
been  a  spectator  of  the  show  I  had  made  of  my- 
self, for  I  had  gone  but  a  few  yards  when  I 
started  one  from  a  thicket  of  brush.  He  evi- 
dently considered  me  dangerous,  for  he  ran 
away  very  fast,  tumbling  over  the  tops  of  the 
tangled  manzanita  bushes  in  his  haste.  Carlo 
drew  back,  with  his  ears  depressed  as  if  afraid, 
and  kept  looking  me  in  the  face,  as  if  expecting 
me  to  pursue  and  shoot,  for  he  had  seen  many  a 
bear  battle  in  his  day. 

Following  the  ridge,  which  made  a  gradual 
descent  to  the  south,  I  came  at  length  to  the 
brow  of  that  massive  clifif  that  stands  between 
Indian  Canon  and  Yosemite  Falls,  and  here 
the  far-famed  valley  came  suddenly  into  view 
throughout  almost  its  whole  extent.  The  no- 
ble walls  —  sculptured  into  endless  variety  of 
domes  and  gables,  spires  and  battlements  and 
plain  mural  precipices  —  all  a-tremble  with  the 
thunder  tones  of  the  falling  water.  The  level 
bottom  seemed  to  be  dressed  hke  a  garden  — 
sunny  meadows  here  and  there,  and  groves  of 
pine  and  oak;  the  river  of  Mercy  sweeping  in 
116 


THE  YOSEMITE 

majesty  through  the  midst  of  them  and  flash- 
ing back  the  sunbeams.  The  great  Tissiack,  or 
Half-Dome,  rising  at  the  upper  end  of  the  val- 
ley to  a  height  of  nearly  a  mile,  is  nobly  pro- 
portioned and  hfe-like,  the  most  impressive  of 
all  the  rocks,  holding  the  eye  in  devout  admi- 
ration, calling  it  back  again  and  again  from 
falls  or  meadows,  or  even  the  mountains  be- 
yond, —  marvelous  cliffs,  marvelous  in  sheer 
dizzy  depth  and  sculpture,  types  of  endur- 
ance. Thousands  of  years  have  they  stood  in 
the  sky  exposed  to  rain,  snow,  frost,  earth- 
quake and  avalanche,  yet  they  still  wear  the 
bloom  of  youth. 

I  rambled  along  the  valley  rim  to  the  west- 
ward ;  most  of  it  is  rounded  off  on  the  very  brink, 
so  that  it  is  not  easy  to  find  places  where  one 
may  look  clear  down  the  face  of  the  wall  to  the 
bottom.  When  such  places  were  found,  and  I 
had  cautiously  set  my  feet  and  drawn  my  body 
erect,  I  could  not  help  fearing  a  Uttle  that  the 
rock  might  split  off  and  let  me  down,  and  what 
a  dowTi !  —  more  than  three  thousand  feet. 
Still  my  limbs  did  not  tremble,  nor  did  I  feel 
the  least  uncertainty  as  to  the  reliance  to  be 
placed  on  them.  My  only  fear  was  that  a  flake 
of  the  granite,  which  in  some  places  showed 
joints  more  or  less  open  and  running  parallel 
with  the  face  of  the  chff ,  might  give  way.  After 
117 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

withdrawing  from  such  places,  excited  with  the 
view  I  had  got,  I  would  say  to  myself,  "Now 
don't  go  out  on  the  verge  again."  But  in  the 
face  of  Yosemite  scenery  cautious  remon- 
strance is  vain;  under  its  spell  one's  body  seems 
to  go  where  it  likes  with  a  will  over  which  we 
seem  to  have  scarce  any  control. 

After  a  mile  or  so  of  this  memorable  clifif 
work  I  approached  Yosemite  Creek,  admiring 
its  easy,  graceful,  confident  gestures  as  it  comes 
bravely  forward  in  its  narrow  channel,  singing 
the  last  of  its  mountain  songs  on  its  way  to  its 
fate  —  a  few  rods  more  over  the  shining  gran- 
ite, then  down  half  a  mile  in  showy  foam  to  an- 
other world,  to  be  lost  in  the  Merced,  where  cli- 
mate, vegetation,  inhabitants,  all  are  different. 
Emerging  from  its  last  gorge,  it  glides  in  wide 
lace-like  rapids  down  a  smooth  incline  into  a 
pool  where  it  seems  to  rest  and  compose  its 
gray,  agitated  waters  before  taking  the  grand 
plunge,  then  slowly  shpping  over  the  lip  of  the 
pool  basin,  it  descends  another  glossy  slope 
with  rapidly  accelerated  speed  to  the  brink  of 
the  tremendous  cliff,  and  with  sublime,  fateful 
confidence  springs  out  free  in  the  air. 

I  took  off  my  shoes  and  stockings  and  worked 
my  way  cautiously  down  alongside  the  rushing 
flood,  keeping  my  feet  and  hands  pressed  firmlj'' 
on  the  polished  rock.    The  booming,  roaring 

118 


THE  YOSEMITE 

water,  rushing  past  close  to  my  head,  was  very 
exciting.  I  had  expected  that  the  sloping  apron 
would  terminate  with  the  perpendicular  wall  of 
the  valley,  and  that  from  the  foot  of  it,  where 
it  is  less  steeply  inchned,  I  should  be  able  to 
lean  far  enough  out  to  see  the  forms  and  be- 
havior of  the  fall  all  the  way  down  to  the  bot- 
tom. But  I  found  that  there  was  yet  another 
small  brow  over  which  I  could  not  see,  and 
which  appeared  to  be  too  steep  for  mortal  feet. 
Scanning  it  keenly,  I  discovered  a  narrow  shelf 
about  three  inches  wide  on  the  very  brink,  just 
wide  enough  for  a  rest  for  one's  heels.  But 
there  seemed  to  be  no  way  of  reaching  it  over 
so  steep  a  brow.  At  length,  after  careful  scru- 
tiny of  the  surface,  I  found  an  irregular  edge 
of  a  flake  of  the  rock  some  distance  back  from 
the  margin  of  the  torrent.  If  I  was  to  get  down 
to  the  brink  at  all  that  rough  edge,  which  might 
offer  slight  finger-holds,  was  the  only  way.  But 
the  slope  beside  it  looked  dangerously  smooth 
and  steep,  and  the  swift  roaring  flood  beneath, 
overhead,  and  beside  me  was  very  nerve- trying. 
I  therefore  concluded  not  to  venture  farther, 
but  did  nevertheless.  Tufts  of  artemisia  were 
growing  in  clefts  of  the  rock  near  by,  and  I 
filled  my  mouth  with  the  bitter  leaves,  hoping 
they  might  help  to  prevent  giddiness.  Then, 
with  a  caution  not  known  in  ordinary  cir- 
119 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

cumstanccs,  I  crept  down  safely  to  the  little 
ledge,  got  my  heels  well  planted  on  it,  then 
shuffled  in  a  horizontal  direction  twenty  or 
thirty  feet  until  close  to  the  outplunging  cur- 
rent, which,  by  the  time  it  had  descended  thus 
far,  was  already  white.  Here  I  obtained  a  per- 
fectly free  view  down  into  the  heart  of  the  snowy, 
chanting  throng  of  comet-like  streamers,  into 
which  the  body  of  the  fall  soon  separates. 

While  perched  on  that  narrow  niche  I  was 
not  distinctly  conscious  of  danger.  The  tre- 
mendous grandeur  of  the  fall  in  form  and  sound 
and  motion,  acting  at  close  range,  smothered 
the  sense  of  fear,  and  in  such  places  one's  body 
takes  keen  care  for  safety  on  its  own  account. 
How  long  I  remained  down  there,  or  how  I  re- 
turned, I  can  hardly  tell.  Anyhow  I  had  a 
glorious  time,  and  got  back  to  camp  about 
dark,  enjoying  triumphant  exhilaration  soon 
followed  by  dull  weariness.  Hereafter  I'll  try 
to  keep  from  such  extravagant,  nerve-straining 
places.  Yet  such  a  day  is  well  worth  venturing 
for.  My  first  view  of  the  High  Sierra,  first  view 
looking  down  into  Yosemite,  the  death  song  of 
Yosemite  Creek,  and  its  flight  over  the  vast 
clifT,  each  one  of  these  is  of  itself  enough  for  a 
great  Hfe-long  landscape  fortune  —  a  most 
memorable  day  of  days  —  enjoyment  enough 
to  kill  if  that  were  possible. 

120 


THE  YOSEMITE 

July  16.  My  enjoyments  yesterday  after- 
noon, especially  at  the  head  of  the  fall,  were 
too  great  for  good  sleep.  Kept  starting  up  last 
night  in  a  nervous  tremor,  half  awake,  fancy- 
ing that  the  foundation  of  the  mountain  we 
were  camped  on  had  given  way  and  was  falling 
into  Yosemite  Valley.  In  vain  I  roused  myself 
to  make  a  new  beginning  for  sound  sleep.  The 
nerve  strain  had  been  too  great,  and  again  and 
again  I  dreamed  I  was  rushing  through  the  air 
above  a  glorious  avalanche  of  water  and  rocks. 
One  time,  springing  to  my  feet,  I  said,  "This 
time  it  is  real  —  all  must  die,  and  where  could 
mountaineer  find  a  more  glorious  death!" 

Left  camp  soon  after  sunrise  for  an  all-day 
ramble  eastward.  Crossed  the  head  of  Indian 
Basin,  forested  with  Abies  magnifica,  under- 
brush mostly  Ceanothus  cordulatus  and  man- 
zanita,  a  mixture  not  easily  trampled  over  or 
penetrated,  for  the  ceanothus  is  thorny  and 
grows  in  dense  snow-pressed  masses,  and  the 
manzanita  has  exceedingly  crooked,  stub- 
born branches.  From  the  head  of  the  caiion 
continued  on  past  North  Dome  into  the  basin 
of  Dome  or  Porcupine  Creek.  Here  are  many 
fine  meadows  imbedded  in  the  woods,  gay 
with  Lilium  parvum  and  its  companions;  the 
elevation,  about  eight  thousand  feet,  seems 
to  be  best  suited  for  it  —  saw  specimens  that 
121 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

were  a  foot  or  two  higher  than  my  head.  Had 
more  magnificent  views  of  the  upper  moun- 
tains, and  of  the  great  South  Dome,  said  to 
be  the  grandest  rock  in  the  world.  Well  it 
may  be,  since  it  is  of  such  noble  dimen- 
sions and  sculpture.  A  wonderfully  impressive 
monument,  its  lines  exquisite  in  fineness,  and 
though  sublime  in  size,  is  finished  like  the  fin- 
est work  of  art,  and  seems  to  be  aUve. 

July  17.  A  new  camp  was  made  to-day  in  a 
magnificent  silver  fir  grove  at  the  head  of  a 
small  stream  that  flows  into  Yosemite  by  way 
of  Indian  Canon.  Here  we  intend  to  stay  sev- 
eral weeks,  —  a  fine  location  from  which  to 
make  excursions  about  the  great  valley  and 
its  fountains.  Glorious  days  I'll  have  sketch- 
ing, pressing  plants,  studying  the  wonderful 
topography  and  the  wild  animals,  our  happy 
fellow  mortals  and  neighbors.  But  the  vast 
mountains  in  the  distance,  shall  I  ever  know 
them,  shall  I  be  allowed  to  enter  into  their 
midst  and  dwell  with  them? 

We  were  pelted  about  noon  by  a  short, 
heavy  rainstorm,  sublime  thunder  reverber- 
ating among  the  mountains  and  canons,  — 
some  strokes  near,  crashing,  ringing  in  the 
tense  crisp  air  with  startUng  keenness,  while 
the  distant  peaks  loomed  gloriously  through 
the  cloud  fringes  and  sheets  of  rain.   Now  the 

122 


The  North  <tutl  South  Diwifs 


THE  YOSEMITE 

storm  is  past,  and  the  fresh  washed  air  is  full 
of  the  essences  of  the  flower  gardens  and 
groves.  Winter  storms  in  Yosemite  must  be 
glorious.  May  I  see  them! 

Have  got  my  bed  made  in  our  new  camp, 
—  plushy,  sumptuous,  and  deliciously  fra- 
grant, most  of  it  magnifica  fir  plumes,  of  course, 
with  a  variety  of  sweet  flowers  in  the  pil- 
low. Hope  to  sleep  to-night  without  tottering 
nerve-dreams.  Watched  a  deer  eating  ceano- 
thus  leaves  and  twigs. 

July  18.  Slept  pretty  well;  the  valley  walls 
did  not  seem  to  fall,  though  I  still  fancied  my- 
self at  the  brink,  alongside  the  white,  plunging 
flood,  especially  when  half  asleep.  Strange 
the  danger  of  that  adventure  should  be  more 
troublesome  now  that  I  am  in  the  bosom  of 
the  peaceful  woods,  a  mile  or  more  from  the 
fall,  than  it  was  while  I  was  on  the  brink  of  it. 

Bears  seem  to  be  common  here,  judging 
by  their  tracks.  About  noon  we  had  another 
rainstorm  with  keen  startling  thunder,  the 
metalhc,  ringing,  clashing,  clanging  notes 
gradually  fading  into  low  bass  rolling  and 
muttering  in  the  distance.  For  a  few  minutes 
the  rain  came  in  a  grand  torrent  like  a  water- 
fall, then  hail;  some  of  the  hailstones  an  inch 
in  diameter,  hard,  icy,  and  irregular  in  form, 
like  those  oftentimes  seen  in  Wisconsin.    Carlo 

123 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

watched  them  with  inteUigent  astonishment 
as  they  came  pelting  and  thrashing  through 
the  quivering  branches  of  the  trees.  The  cloud 
scenery  sublime.  Afternoon  calm,  sunful,  and 
clear,  with  dehcious  freshness  and  fragrance 
from  the  firs  and  flowers  and  steaming  ground. 

July  19.  Watching  the  daybreak  and  sun- 
rise. The  pale  rose  and  purple  sky  changing 
softly  to  daffodil  yellow  and  white,  sunbeams 
pouring  through  the  passes  between  the  peaks 
and  over  the  Yosemite  domes,  making  their 
edges  burn;  the  silver  firs  in  the  middle  ground 
catching  the  glow  on  their  spiry  tops,  and  our 
camp  grove  fills  and  thrills  with  the  glorious 
light.  Everything  awakening  alert  and  joy- 
ful; the  birds  begin  to  stir  and  innumerable 
insect  people.  Deer  quietly  withdraw  into  leafy 
hiding-places  in  the  chaparral;  the  dew  van- 
ishes, flowers  spread  their  petals,  every  pulse 
beats  high,  every  life  cell  rejoices,  the  very 
rocks  seem  to  thrill  with  life.  The  whole  land- 
scape glows  Uke  a  human  face  in  a  glory  of  en- 
thusiasm, and  the  blue  sky,  pale  around  the 
horizon,  bends  peacefully  down  over  all  like 
one  vast  flower. 

About  noon,  as  usual,  big  bossy  cumuli  be- 
gan to  grow  above  the  forest,  and  the  rain- 
storm pouring  from  them  is  the  most  imposing 
I  have  yet  seen.   The  silvery  zigzag  lightning 

124 


THE  YOSEMITE 

lances  are  longer  than  usual,  and  the  thunder 
gloriously  impressive,  keen,  crashing,  intensely 
concentrated,  speaking  with  such  tremendous 
energy  it  would  seem  that  an  entire  moun- 
tain is  being  shattered  at  every  stroke,  but 
probably  only  a  few  trees  are  being  shattered, 
many  of  which  I  have  seen  on  my  walks  here- 
abouts strewing  the  ground.  At  last  the  clear 
ringing  strokes  are  succeeded  by  deep  low  tones 
that  grow  gradually  fainter  as  they  roll  afar 
into  the  recesses  of  the  echoing  mountains, 
where  they  seem  to  be  welcomed  home.  Then 
another  and  another  peal,  or  rather  crashing, 
splintering  stroke,  follows  in  quick  succession, 
perchance  splitting  some  giant  pine  or  fir  from 
top  to  bottom  into  long  rails  and  shvers,  and 
scattering  them  to  all  points  of  the  compass. 
Now  comes  the  rain,  with  corresponding  ex- 
travagant grandeur,  covering  the  ground  high 
and  low  with  a  sheet  of  flowing  water,  a  trans- 
parent film  fitted  like  a  skin  upon  the  rugged 
anatomy  of  the  landscape,  making  the  rocks 
gUtter  and  glow,  gathering  in  the  ravines, 
flooding  the  streams,  and  making  them  shout 
and  boom  in  reply  to  the  thunder. 

How  interesting  to  trace  the  history  of  a 
single  raindrop!  It  is  not  long,  geologically 
speaking,  as  we  have  seen,  since  the  first  rain- 
drops fell  on  the  newborn  leafless  Sierra  land- 

125 


MY  FIRST  STTMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

scapes.  How  different  the  lot  of  these  falling 
now!  Happy  the  showers  that  fall  on  so  fair 
a  wilderness,  —  scarce  a  single  drop  can  fail 
to  find  a  beautiful  spot,  —  on  the  tops  of  the 
peaks,  on  the  shining  glacier  pavements,  on 
the  great  smooth  domes,  on  forests  and  gar- 
dens and  brushy  moraines,  plashing,  glinting, 
pattering,  laving.  Some  go  to  the  high  snowy 
fountains  to  swell  their  well-saved  stores;  some 
into  the  lakes,  washing  the  mountain  windows, 
patting  their  smooth  glassy  levels,  making 
dimples  and  bubbles  and  spray;  some  into  the 
waterfalls  and  cascades,  as  if  eager  to  join  in 
their  dance  and  song  and  beat  their  foam  yet 
finer;  good  luck  and  good  work  for  the  happy 
mountain  raindrops,  each  one  of  them  a  high 
waterfall  in  itself,  descending  from  the  cliffs 
and  hollows  of  the  clouds  to  the  cliffs  and  hol- 
lows of  the  rocks,  out  of  the  sky-thunder  into 
the  thunder  of  the  falling  rivers.  Some,  falling 
on  meadows  and  bogs,  creep  silently  out  of 
sight  to  the  grass  roots,  hiding  softly  as  in  a 
nest,  slipping,  oozing  hither,  thither,  seeking 
and  finding  their  appointed  work.  Some,  de- 
scending through  the  spires  of  the  woods,  sift 
spray  through  the  shining  needles,  whispering 
peace  and  good  cheer  to  each  one  of  them. 
Some  drops  with  happy  aim  glint  on  the  sides 
of  crystals,  —  quartz,  hornblende,  garnet,  zir- 

126 


THE  YOSEMITE 

con,  tourmaline,  feldspar,  —  patter  on  grains 
of  gold  and  heavy  way-worn  nuggets;  some, 
with  blunt  plap-plap  and  low  bass  drumming, 
fall  on  the  broad  leaves  of  veratrum,  saxifrage, 
cypripedium.  Some  happy  drops  fall  straight 
into  the  cups  of  flowers,  kissing  the  Hps  of  lilies. 
How  far  they  have  to  go,  how  many  cups  to 
fill,  great  and  small,  cells  too  small  to  be  seen, 
cups  holding  half  a  drop  as  well  as  lake  basins 
between  the  hills,  each  replenished  with  equal 
care,  every  drop  in  all  the  blessed  throng  a  sil- 
very newborn  star  with  lake  and  river,  garden 
and  grove,  valley  and  mountain,  all  that  the 
landscape  holds  reflected  in  its  crystal  depths, 
God's  messenger,  angel  of  love  sent  on  its  way 
with  majesty  and  pomp  and  display  of  power 
that  make  man's  greatest  shows  ridiculous. 

Now  the  storm  is  over,  the  sky  is  clear,  the 
last  rolling  thunder-wave  is  spent  on  the  peaks, 
and  where  are  the  raindrops  now  —  what  has 
become  of  all  the  shining  throng?  In  winged 
vapor  rising  some  are  already  hastening  back 
to  the  sky,  some  have  gone  into  the  plants, 
creeping  through  invisible  doors  into  the 
round  rooms  of  cells,  some  are  locked  in  crys- 
tals of  ice,  some  in  rock  crystals,  some  in 
porous  moraines  to  keep  their  small  springs 
flowing,  some  have  gone  journeying  on  in  the 
rivers  to  join  the  larger  raindrop  of  the  ocean. 
127 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

From  form  to  form,  beauty  to  beauty,  ever 
changing,  never  resting,  all  are  speeding  on 
with  love's  enthusiasm,  singing  with  the  stars 
the  eternal  song  of  creation. 

July  20.  Fine  calm  morning;  air  tense  and 
clear;  not  the  slightest  breeze  astir;  every- 
thing shining,  the  rocks  with  wet  crystals,  the 
plants  with  dew,  each  receiving  its  portion 
of  irised  dewdrops  and  sunshine  Hke  living 
creatures  getting  their  breakfast,  their  dew 
manna  coming  down  from  the  starry  sky  like 
swarms  of  smaller  stars.  How  wondrous  fine 
are  the  particles  in  showers  of  dew,  thousands 
required  for  a  single  drop,  growing  in  the  dark 
as  silently  as  the  grass!  What  pains  are  taken 
to  keep  this  wilderness  in  health,  —  showers 
of  snow,  showers  of  rain,  showers  of  dew, 
floods  of  light,  floods  of  invisible  vapor,  clouds, 
winds,  all  sorts  of  weather,  interaction  of 
plant  on  plant,  animal  on  animal,  etc.,  beyond 
thought!  How  fine  Nature's  methods!  How 
deeply  with  beauty  is  beauty  overlaid!  the 
ground  covered  with  crystals,  the  crystals  with 
mosses  and  lichens  and  low-spreading  grasses 
and  flowers,  these  with  larger  plants  leaf  over 
leaf  with  ever-changing  color  and  form,  the 
broad  palms  of  the  firs  outspread  over  these, 
the  azure  dome  over  all  like  a  bell-flower,  and 
star  above  star. 

128 


THE  YOSEMITE 

Yonder  stands  the  South  Dome,  its  crown 
high  above  our  camp,  though  its  base  is  four 
thousand  feet  below  us;  a  most  noble  rock,  it 
seems  full  of  thought,  clothed  with  hving  light, 
no  sense  of  dead  stone  about  it,  all  spiritual- 
ized, neither  heavy  looking  nor  light,  steadfast 
in  serene  strength  hke  a  god. 

Our  shepherd  is  a  queer  character  and  hard 
to  place  in  this  wilderness.  His  bed  is  a  hollow 
made  in  red  dry-rot  punky  dust  beside  a  log 
which  forms  a  portion  of  the  south  wall  of  the 
corral.  Here  he  lies  with  his  wonderful  ever- 
lasting clothing  on,  wrapped  in  a  red  blanket, 
breathing  not  only  the  dust  of  the  decayed 
wood  but  also  that  of  the  corral,  as  if  deter- 
mined to  take  ammoniacal  snuff  all  night  after 
chewing  tobacco  all  day.  Following  the  sheep 
he  carries  a  heavy  six-shooter  swung  from  his 
belt  on  one  side  and  his  luncheon  on  the  other. 
The  ancient  cloth  in  which  the  meat,  fresh 
from  the  frying-pan,  is  tied  serves  as  a  filter 
through  which  the  clear  fat  and  gravy  juices 
drip  down  on  his  right  hip  and  leg  in  clustering 
stalactites.  This  oleaginous  formation  is  soon 
broken  up,  however,  and  diffused  and  rubbed 
evenly  into  his  scanty  apparel,  by  sitting 
down,  rolhng  over,  crossing  his  legs  while  rest- 
ing on  logs,  etc.,  making  shirt  and  trousers 
water-tight  and  shiny.  His  trousers,  in  parti- 
129 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

cular,  have  become  so  adhesive  with  the  mixed 
fat  and  resin  that  pine  needles,  thin  flakes  and 
fibres  of  bark,  hair,  mica  scales  and  minute 
grains  of  quartz,  hornblende,  etc.,  feathers, 
seed  wings,  moth  and  butterfly  wings,  legs  and 
antennae  of  innumerable  insects,  or  even  whole 
insects  such  as  the  small  beetles,  moths  and 
mosquitoes,  with  flower  petals,  pollen  dust 
and  indeed  bits  of  all  plants,  animals,  and  min- 
erals of  the  region  adhere  to  them  and  are 
safely  imbedded,  so  that  though  far  from  be- 
ing a  naturalist  he  collects  fragmentary  speci- 
mens of  everything  and  becomes  richer  than 
he  knows.  His  specimens  are  kept  passably 
fresh,  too,  by  the  purity  of  the  air  and  the 
resiny  bituminous  beds  into  which  they  are 
pressed.  Man  is  a  microcosm,  at  least  our 
shepherd  is,  or  rather  his  trousers.  These 
precious  overalls  are  never  taken  off,  and  no- 
body knows  how  old  they  are,  though  one  may 
guess  by  their  thickness  and  concentric  struc- 
ture. Instead  of  wearing  thin  they  wear  thick, 
and  in  their  stratification  have  no  small  geo- 
logical significance. 

Besides  herding  the  sheep,  Billy  is  the 
butcher,  while  I  have  agreed  to  wash  the  few 
iron  and  tin  utensils  and  make  the  bread. 
Then,  these  small  duties  done,  by  the  time  the 
sun  is  fairly  above  the  mountain-tops  I  am 

130 


THE  YOSEMITE 

beyond  the  flock,  free  to  rove  and  revel  in  the 
wilderness  all  the  big  immortal  days. 

Sketching  on  the  North  Dome.  It  com- 
mands views  of  nearly  all  the  valley  besides 
a  few  of  the  high  mountains.  I  would  fain 
draw  everything  in  sight  —  rock,  tree,  and 
leaf.  But  little  can  I  do  beyond  mere  outlines, 
—  marks  with  meanings  like  words,  readable 
only  to  myself,  —  yet  I  sharpen  my  pencils 
and  work  on  as  if  others  might  possibly  be 
benefited.  Whether  these  picture-sheets  are 
to  vanish  hke  fallen  leaves  or  go  to  friends  like 
letters,  matters  not  much;  for  little  can  they 
tell  to  those  who  have  not  themselves  seen 
similar  wildness,  and  like  a  language  have 
learned  it.  No  pain  here,  no  dull  empty  hours, 
no  fear  of  the  past,  no  fear  of  the  future.  These 
blessed  mountains  are  so  compactly  filled  with 
God's  beauty,  no  petty  personal  hope  or  ex- 
perience has  room  to  be.  Drinking  this  cham- 
pagne water  is  pure  pleasure,  so  is  breathing 
the  living  air,  and  every  movement  of  limbs 
is  pleasure,  while  the  whole  body  seems  to  feel 
beauty  when  exposed  to  it  as  it  feels  the  camp- 
fire  or  sunshine,  entering  not  by  the  eyes  alone, 
but  equally  through  all  one's  flesh  like  radiant 
heat,  making  a  passionate  ecstatic  pleasure- 
glow  not  explainable.  One's  body  then  seems 
homogeneous  throughout,  sound  as  a  crystal. 
131 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Perched  like  a  fly  on  this  Yosemite  dome,  I 
gaze  and  sketch  and  bask,  oftentimes  settling 
down  into  dumb  admiration  without  definite 
hope  of  ever  learning  much,  yet  with  the  long- 
ing, unresting  effort  that  lies  at  the  door  of 
hope,  humbly  prostrate  before  the  vast  dis- 
play of  God's  power,  and  eager  to  offer  self- 
denial  and  renunciation  with  eternal  toil  to 
learn  any  lesson  in  the  divine  manuscript. 

It  is  easier  to  feel  than  to  realize,  or  in  any 
way  explain,  Yosemite  grandeur.  The  magni- 
tudes of  the  rocks  and  trees  and  streams  are 
so  dehcately  harmonized  they  are  mostly  hid- 
den. Sheer  precipices  three  thousand  feet 
high  are  fringed  with  tall  trees  growing  close 
like  grass  on  the  brow  of  a  lowland  hill,  and 
extending  along  the  feet  of  these  precipices 
a  ribbon  of  meadow  a  mile  wide  and  seven  or 
eight  long,  that  seems  Uke  a  strip  a  farmer 
might  mow  in  less  than  a  day.  Waterfalls, 
five  hundred  to  one  or  two  thousand  feet  high, 
are  so  subordinated  to  the  mighty  cliffs  over 
which  they  pour  that  they  seem  like  wisps 
of  smoke,  gentle  as  floating  clouds,  though 
their  voices  fill  the  valley  and  make  the  rocks 
tremble.  The  mountains,  too,  along  the  eastern 
sky,  and  the  domes  in  front  of  them,  and  the 
succession  of  smooth  rounded  waves  between, 
swelling  higher,  higher,  with  dark  woods  in 

132 


THE  YOSEMITE 

their  hollows,  serene  in  massive  exuberant 
bulk  and  beauty,  tend  yet  more  to  hide  the 
grandeur  of  the  Yoscmite  temple  and  make  it 
appear  as  a  subdued  subordinate  feature  of  the 
vast  harmonious  landscape.  Thus  every  at- 
tempt to  appreciate  any  one  feature  is  beaten 
down  by  the  overwhelming  influence  of  all  the 
others.  And,  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  lo! 
in  the  sky  arises  another  mountain  range 
with  topography  as  rugged  and  substantial- 
looking  as  the  one  beneath  it  —  snowy  peaks 
and  domes  and  shadowy  Yosemite  valleys  — 
another  version  of  the  snowy  Sierra,  a  new 
creation  heralded  by  a  thunder-storm.  How 
fiercely,  devoutly  wild  is  Nature  in  the  midst 
of  her  beauty-loving  tenderness!  —  painting 
lilies,  watering  them,  caressing  them  with 
gentle  hand,  going  from  flower  to  flower  like 
a  gardener  while  building  rock  mountains  and 
cloud  mountains  full  of  lightning  and  rain. 
Gladly  we  run  for  shelter  beneath  an  over- 
hanging cliff  and  examine  the  reassuring  ferns 
and  mosses,  gentle  love  tokens  growing  in 
cracks  and  chinks.  Daisies,  too,  and  ivesias, 
confiding  wild  children  of  light,  too  small  to 
fear.  To  these  one's  heart  goes  home,  and  the 
voices  of  the  storm  become  gentle.  Now  the 
sun  breaks  forth  and  fragrant  steam  arises. 
The  birds  are  out  singing  on  the  edges  of  the 
133 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

groves.  The  west  is  flaming  in  gold  and  purple, 
ready  for  the  ceremony  of  the  sunset,  and 
back  I  go  to  camp  with  my  notes  and  pictures, 
the  best  of  them  printed  in  my  mind  as  dreams. 
A  fruitful  day,  without  measured  beginning 
or  ending.  A  terrestrial  eternity.  A  gift  of 
good  God. 

Wrote  to  my  mother  and  a  few  friends, 
mountain  hints  to  each.  They  seem  as  near  as 
if  within  voice-reach  or  touch.  The  deeper  the 
sohtude  the  less  the  sense  of  loneliness,  and 
the  nearer  our  friends.  Now  bread  and  tea, 
fir  bed  and  good-night  to  Carlo,  a  look  at  the 
sky  hUes,  and  death  sleep  until  the  dawn  of 
another  Sierra  to-morrow. 

July  21.  Sketching  on  the  Dome  —  no  rain; 
clouds  at  noon  about  quarter  filled  the  sky, 
casting  shadows  with  fine  effect  on  the  white 
mountains  at  the  heads  of  the  streams,  and  a 
soothing  cover  over  the  gardens  during  the 
warm  hours. 

Saw  a  common  house-fly  and  a  grasshop- 
per and  a  brown  bear.  The  fly  and  grasshopper 
paid  me  a  merry  visit  on  the  top  of  the  Dome, 
and  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  bear  in  the  middle  of 
a  small  garden  meadow  between  the  Dome 
and  the  camp  where  he  was  standing  alert 
among  the  flowers  as  if  willing  to  be  seen  to 
advantage.   I  had  not  gone  more  than  half  a 

134 


THE  YOSEMITE 

mile  from  camp  this  morning,  when  Carlo, 
who  was  trotting  on  a  few  yards  ahead  of  me, 
came  to  a  sudden,  cautious  standstill.  Down 
went  tail  and  ears,  and  forward  went  his  know- 
ing nose,  while  he  seemed  to  be  saying,  "Ha, 
what's  this?  A  bear,  I  guess."  Then  a  cau- 
tious advance  of  a  few  steps,  setting  his  feet 
down  softly  hke  a  hunting  cat,  and  question- 
ing the  air  as  to  the  scent  he  had  caught  until 
all  doubt  vanished.  Then  he  came  back  to 
me,  looked  me  in  the  face,  and  with  his  speak- 
ing eyes  reported  a  bear  near  by;  then  led  on 
softly,  careful,  hke  an  experienced  hunter, 
not  to  make  the  slightest  noise,  and  frequently 
looking  back  as  if  whispering,  "Yes,  it's  a 
bear;  come  and  I'll  show  you."  Presently  we 
came  to  where  the  sunbeams  were  streaming 
through  between  the  purple  shafts  of  the  firs, 
which  showed  that  we  were  nearing  an  open 
spot,  and  here  Carlo  came  behind  me,  evi- 
dently sure  that  the  bear  was  very  near.  So 
I  crept  to  a  low  ridge  of  moraine  boulders  on 
the  edge  of  a  narrow  garden  meadow,  and  in 
this  meadow  I  felt  pretty  sure  the  bear  must 
be.  I  was  anxious  to  get  a  good  look  at  the 
sturdy  mountaineer  without  alarming  him;  so 
drawing  myself  up  noiselessly  back  of  one  of 
the  largest  of  the  trees  I  peered  past  its  bulging 
buttresses,  exposing  only  a  part  of  my  head, 

135 


I\IY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  there  stood  neighbor  Bruin  within  a 
stone's  throw,  his  hips  covered  by  tall  grass 
and  flowers,  and  his  front  feet  on  the  trunk  of 
a  fir  that  had  fallen  out  into  the  meadow, 
which  raised  his  head  so  high  that  he  seemed 
to  be  standing  erect.  He  had  not  yet  seen 
me,  but  was  looking  and  listening  attentively, 
showing  that  in  some  way  he  was  aware  of 
our  approach.  I  watched  his  gestures  and  tried 
to  make  the  most  of  my  opportunity  to  learn 
what  I  could  about  him,  fearing  he  would 
catch  sight  of  me  and  run  away.  For  I  had 
been  told  that  this  sort  of  bear,  the  cinnamon, 
always  ran  from  his  bad  brother  man,  never 
showing  fight  unless  wounded  or  in  defense  of 
young.  He  made  a  telhng  picture  standing 
alert  in  the  sunny  forest  garden.  How  well 
he  played  his  part,  harmonizing  in  bulk  and 
color  and  shaggy  hair  with  the  trunks  of  the 
trees  and  lush  vegetation,  as  natural  a  feature 
as  any  other  in  the  landscape.  After  examin- 
ing at  leisure,  noting  the  sharp  muzzle  thrust 
inquiringly  forward,  the  long  shaggy  hair  on 
his  broad  chest,  the  stifT,  erect  ears  nearly 
buried  in  hair,  and  the  slow,  heavy  way  he 
moved  his  head,  I  thought  I  should  like  to 
see  his  gait  in  running,  so  I  made  a  sudden 
rush  at  him,  shouting  and  swinging  my  hat 
to  frighten  him,  expecting  to  see  him  make 

136 


THE  YOSEMITE 

haste  to  get  away.  But  to  my  dismay  he  did 
not  run  or  show  any  sign  of  running.  On  the 
contrary,  he  stood  his  ground  ready  to  fight 
and  defend  himself,  lowered  his  head,  thrust 
it  forward,  and  looked  sharply  and  fiercely  at 
me.  Then  I  suddenly  began  to  fear  that  upon 
me  would  fall  the  work  of  running;  but  I  was 
afraid  to  run,  and  therefore,  like  the  bear,  held 
my  ground.  We  stood  staring  at  each  other  in 
solemn  silence  within  a  dozen  yards  or  there- 
abouts, while  I  fervently  hoped  that  the  power 
of  the  human  eye  over  wild  beasts  v/ould  prove 
as  great  as  it  is  said  to  be.  How  long  our  aw- 
fully strenuous  interview  lasted,  I  don't  know; 
but  at  length  in  the  slow  fullness  of  time  he 
pulled  his  huge  paws  down  off  the  log,  and 
with  magnificent  dehberation  turned  and 
walked  leisurely  up  the  meadow,  stopping  fre- 
quently to  look  back  over  his  shoulder  to  see 
whether  I  was  pursuing  him,  then  moving 
on  again,  evidently  neither  fearing  me  very 
much  nor  tnisting  me.  He  was  probably 
about  five  hundred  pounds  in  weight,  a  broad, 
rusty  bundle  of  ungovernable  wildness,  a 
happy  fellow  whose  lines  have  fallen  in  pleas- 
ant places.  The  flowery  glade  in  which  I  saw 
him  so  well,  framed  like  a  picture,  is  one  of 
the  best  of  all  I  have  yet  discovered,  a  con- 
servatory of  Nature's  precious  plant  people. 
137 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Tall  lilies  were  swinging  their  bells  over  that 
bear's  back,  with  geraniums,  larkspurs,  colum- 
bines, and  daisies  brushing  against  his  sides. 
A  place  for  angels,  one  would  say,  instead  of 
bears. 

In  the  great  canons  Bruin  reigns  supreme. 
Happy  fellow,  whom  no  famine  can  reach 
while  one  of  his  thousand  kinds  of  food  is 
spared  him.  His  bread  is  sure  at  all  seasons, 
ranged  on  the  mountain  shelves  like  stores  in 
a  pantry.  From  one  to  the  other,  up  or  down 
he  climbs,  tasting  and  enjoying  each  in  turn 
in  different  climates,  as  if  he  had  journeyed 
thousands  of  miles  to  other  countries  north 
or  south  to  enjoy  their  varied  productions.  I 
should  like  to  know  my  hairy  brothers  better 
—  though  after  this  particular  Yosemite  bear, 
my  very  neighbor,  had  sauntered  out  of  sight 
this  morning,  I  reluctantly  went  back  to  camp 
for  the  Don's  rifle  to  shoot  him,  if  necessary, 
in  defense  of  the  flock.  Fortunately  I  could  n't 
find  him,  and  after  tracking  him  a  mile  or 
two  towards  Mount  HofTman  I  bade  him 
Godspeed  and  gladly  returned  to  my  work  on 
the  Yosemite  Dome. 

The  house-fly  also  seemed  at  home  and 
buzzed  about  me  as  I  sat  sketching,  and  en- 
joying my  bear  interview  now  it  was  over.  I 
wonder  what  draws  house-flies  so  far  up  the 

138 


THE   YOSEMITE 

mountains,  heavy  gross  feeders  as  they  are, 
sensitive  to  cold,  and  fond  of  domestic  ease. 
How  have  they  been  distributed  from  conti- 
nent to  continent,  across  seas  and  deserts  and 
mountain  chains,  usually  so  influential  in  de- 
termining boundaries  of  species  both  of  plants 
and  animals.  Beetles  and  butterflies  are  some- 
times restricted  to  small  areas.  Each  moun- 
tain in  a  range,  and  even  the  different  zones 
of  a  mountain,  may  have  its  own  peculiar 
species.  But  the  house-fly  seems  to  be  every- 
where. I  wonder  if  any  island  in  mid-ocean  is 
flyless.  The  bluebottle  is  abundant  in  these 
Yosemite  woods,  ever  ready  with  his  marvel- 
ous store  of  eggs  to  make  all  dead  flesh  fly. 
Bumblebees  are  here,  and  are  well  fed  on 
boundless  stores  of  nectar  and  pollen.  The 
honeybee,  though  abundant  in  the  foothills, 
has  not  yet  got  so  high.  It  is  only  a  few 
years  since  the  first  swarm  was  brought  to 
California. 

A  queer  fellow  and  a  jolly  fellow  is  the  grass- 
hopper. Up  the  mountains  he  comes  on  ex- 
cursions, how  high  I  don't  know,  but  at  least 
as  far  and  high  as  Yosemite  tourists.  I  was 
much  interested  with  the  hearty  enjoyment  of 
the  one  that  danced  and  sang  for  me  on  the 
Dome  this  afternoon.  He  seemed  brimful  of 
glad,  hilarious  energy,  manifested  by  springing 

139 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

into  the  air  to  a  height  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet, 
then  diving  and  springing  up  again  and  making 
a  sharp  musical  rattle  just  as  the  lowest  point 
in  the  descent  was  reached.  Up  and  down  a 
dozen  times  or  so  he  danced  and  sang,  then 
alighted  to  rest,  then  up  and  at  it  again.  The 
curves  he  described  in  the  air  in  diving  and 
rattling  resembled  those  made  by  cords  hang- 
ing loosely  and  attached  at  the  same  height  at 
the  ends,  the  loops  nearly  covering  each  other. 
Braver,  heartier,  keener,  care-free  enjoyment 
of  life  I  have  never  seen  or  heard  in  any  crea- 
ture, great  or  small.  The  life  of  this  comic  red- 
legs,  the  mountain's  merriest  child,  seems  to 
be  made  up  of  pure,  condensed  gayety.  The 
Douglas  squirrel  is  the  only  Uving  creature 
that  I  can  compQ,re  him  with  in  exuber- 
ant, rollicking,  irrepressible  jollity.  Wonderful 
that  these  sublime  mountains  are  so  loudly 
cheered  and  brightened  by  a  creature  so  queer. 
Nature  in  him  seems  to  be  snapping  her  fingers 
in  the  face  of  all  earthly  dejection  and  melan- 
choly with  a  boyish  hip-hip-hurrah.  How  the 
sound  is  made  I  do  not  understand.  When  he 
was  on  the  ground  he  made  not  the  slightest 
noise,  nor  when  he  was  simply  flying  from  place 
to  place,  but  only  when  diving  in  curves,  the 
motion  seeming  to  be  required  for  the  sound; 
for  the  more  vigorous  the  diving  the  more  ener- 

140 


IKAfK    OK   SIN(;iN(J   DANCINCr   (JRASSIIUPPER 
IN   TIIK   A I  It   OVKi;    NOinil    DO.MK 


THE  YOSEMITE 

getic  the  corresponding  outbursts  of  jolly  rat- 
tling. I  tried  to  observe  him  closely  while  he 
was  resting  in  the  intervals  of  his  performances; 
but  he  would  not  allow  a  near  approach,  always 
getting  his  jumping  legs  ready  to  spring  for  im- 
mediate flight,  and  keeping  his  eyes  on  me.  A 
fine  sermon  the  little  fellow  danced  for  me  on 
the  Dome,  a  likely  place  to  look  for  sermons  in 
stones,  but  not  for  grasshopper  sermons.  A  large 
and  imposing  pulpit  for  so  small  a  preacher. 
No  danger  of  weakness  in  the  knees  of  the 
world  while  Nature  can  spring  such  a  rattle 
as  this.  Even  the  bear  did  not  express  for  me 
the  mountain's  wild  health  and  strength  and 
happiness  so  tellingly  as  did  this  comical  little 
hopper.  No  cloud  of  care  in  his  day,  no  winter 
of  discontent  in  sight.  To  him  every  day  is  a 
holiday;  and  when  at  length  his  sun  sets,  I 
fancy  he  will  cuddle  down  on  the  forest  floor 
and  die  like  the  leaves  and  flowers,  and  hke 
them  leave  no  unsightly  remains  calUng  for 
burial. 

Sundown,  and  I  must  to  camp.  Good-night, 
friends  three,  —  brown  bear,  rugged  boulder 
of  energy  in  groves  and  gardens  fair  as  Eden; 
restless,  fussy  fly  with  gauzy  wings  stirring  the 
air  around  all  the  world;  and  grasshopper, 
crisp,  electric  spark  of  joy  enlivening  the  massy 
subUmity  of  the  mountains  like  the  laugh  of  a 

141 


MY  FIRST  STTMIMER  IN  TIIE  SIERRA 

child.  Thank  you,  thank  you  all  three  for 
your  quickening  company.  Heaven  guide  every 
wing  and  leg.  Good-night  friends  three,  good- 
night. 

July  22.  A  fine  specimen  of  the  black- tailed 
deer  went  bounding  past  camp  this  morning. 
A  buck  with  wide  spread  of  antlers,  showing 
admirable  vigor  and  grace.  Wonderful  the 
beauty,  strength,  and  graceful  movements  of 
animals  in  wildernesses,  cared  for  by  Nature 
only,  when  our  experience  with  domestic  ani- 
mals would  lead  us  to  fear  that  all  the  so-called 
neglected  wild  beasts  would  degenerate.  Yet 
the  upshot  of  Nature's  method  of  breeding  and 
teaching  seems  to  lead  to  excellence  of  every 
sort.  Deer,  like  all  wild  animals,  are  as  clean 
as  plants.  The  beauties  of  their  gestures  and 
attitudes,  alert  or  in  repose,  surprise  yet  more 
than  their  bounding  exuberant  strength.  Every 
movement  and  posture  is  graceful,  the  very 
poetry  of  manners  and  motion.  Mother  Nature 
is  too  often  spoken  of  as  in  reality  no  mother 
at  all.  Yet  how  wisely,  sternly,  tenderly  she 
loves  and  looks  after  her  children  in  all  sorts  of 
weather  and  wildernesses.  The  more  I  see  of 
deer  the  more  I  admire  them  as  mountain- 
eers. They  make  their  way  into  the  heart  of 
the  roughest  solitudes  with  smooth  reserve  of 
strength,  through  dense  belts  of  brush  and  for- 

142 


Ml.  CLAKK      Tor  ol    S.    l>n\li;      M  1.  STAKU  KING 

AIUKS    .MA<;MrUA 


THE   YOSEMTTE 

est  encumbered  with  fallen  trees  and  boulder 
piles,  across  canons,  roaring  streams,  and  snow- 
ficlds,  ever  showing  forth  beauty  and  courage. 
Over  nearly  all  the  continent  the  deer  find 
homes.  In  the  Florida  savannas  and  hum- 
mocks, in  the  Canada  woods,  in  the  far  north, 
roaming  over  mossy  tundras,  swimming  lakes 
and  rivers  and  arms  of  the  sea  from  island  to 
island  washed  with  waves,  or  climbing  rocky 
mountains,  everywhere  healthy  and  able,  add- 
ing beauty  to  every  landscape, — a  truly  admir- 
able creature  and  great  credit  to  Nature. 

Have  been  sketching  a  silver  fir  that  stands 
on  a  granite  ridge  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the 
eastward  of  camp  —  a  fine  tree  with  a  particular 
snow-storm  story  to  tell.  It  is  about  one  hun- 
dred feet  high,  growing  on  bare  rock,  thrust- 
ing its  roots  into  a  weathered  joint  less  than  an 
inch  wide,  and  bulging  out  to  form  a  base  to 
bear  its  weight.  The  storm  came  from  the 
north  while  it  was  young  and  broke  it  down 
nearly  to  the  ground,  as  is  shown  by  the  old, 
dead,  weather-beaten  top  leaning  out  from  the 
living  trunk  built  up  from  a  new  shoot  below 
the  break.  The  annual  rings  of  the  trunk  that 
have  overgrown  the  dead  sapling  tell  the  year 
of  the  storm.  Wonderful  that  a  side  branch 
forming  a  portion  of  one  of  the  level  collars 
that  encircle  the  trunk  of  this  species  {Abies 

143 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

magnifica)  should  bend  upward,  grow  erect, 
and  take  the  place  of  the  lost  axis  to  form  a 
new  tree. 

Many  others,  pines  as  well  as  firs,  bear  testi- 
mony to  the  crushing  severity  of  this  particular 
storm.  Trees,  some  of  them  fifty  to  seventy- 
five  feet  high,  were  bent  to  the  ground  and 
buried  like  grass,  whole  groves  vanishing  as  if 
the  forest  had  been  cleared  away,  leaving  not  a 
branch  or  needle  visible  until  the  spring  thaw. 
Then  the  more  elastic  undamaged  saplings  rose 
again,  aided  by  the  wind,  some  reaching  a 
nearly  erect  attitude,  others  remaining  more  or 
less  bent,  while  those  with  broken  backs  en- 
deavored to  specialize  a  side  branch  below  the 
break  and  make  a  leader  of  it  to  form  a  new  axis 
of  development.  It  is  as  if  a  man,  whose  back 
was  broken  or  nearly  so  and  who  was  com- 
pelled to  go  bent,  should  find  a  branch  back- 
bone sprouting  straight  up  from  below  the 
break  and  should  gradually  develop  new  arms 
and  shoulders  and  head,  while  the  old  dam- 
aged portion  of  his  body  died. 

Grand  white  cloud  mountains  and  domes 
created  about  noon  as  usual,  ridges  and  ranges 
of  endless  variety,  as  if  Nature  dearly  loved 
this  sort  of  work,  doing  it  again  and  again 
nearly  every  day  with  infinite  industry,  and 
producing  beauty  that  never  palls.  A  few  zig- 
144 


ILLL'STRATINC    (iltOWTH    (»K    MOW    I'INK    FHOM 

r.liANClI    HKLOW  THE   IJREAK   OF   AXIS 

OK   SNOW-CUl  SHED   TKEE 


THE  YOSEMITE 

zags  of  lightning,  five  minutes'  shower,  then  a 
gradual  wilting  and  clearing. 

July  23.  Another  midday  cloudland,  dis- 
playing power  and  beauty  that  one  never  wea- 
ries in  beholding,  but  hopelessly  unsketchable 
and  untenable.  AVhat  can  poor  mortals  say 
about  clouds?  While  a  description  of  their 
huge  glowing  domes  and  ridges,  shadowy  gulfs 
and  canons,  and  feather-edged  ravines  is  being 
tried,  they  vanish,  leaving  no  visible  ruins. 
Nevertheless,  these  fleeting  sky  mountains  are 
as  substantial  and  significant  as  the  more  last- 
ing upheavals  of  granite  beneath  them.  Both 
alike  are  built  up  and  die,  and  in  God's  calendar 
diflerence  of  duration  is  nothing.  We  can  only 
dream  about  them  in  wondering,  worshiping 
admiration,  happier  than  we  dare  tell  even  to 
friends  who  see  farthest  in  sympathy,  glad  to 
know  that  not  a  crystal  or  vapor  particle  of 
them,  hard  or  soft,  is  lost;  that  they  sink  and 
vanish  only  to  rise  again  and  again  in  higher 
and  higher  beauty.  As  to  our  own  work,  duty, 
influence,  etc.,  concerning  which  so  much  fussy 
pother  is  made,  it  will  not  fail  of  its  due  efifect, 
though,  Uke  a  hchen  on  a  stone,  we  keep 
silent. 

July  24.  Clouds  at  noon  occupying  about 
half  the  sky  gave  half  an  hour  of  heavy  rain 
to  wash  one  of  the  cleanest  landscapes  in  the 
145 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

world.  How  well  it  is  washed !  The  sea  is  hardly 
less  dusty  than  the  ice-burnished  pavements 
and  ridges,  domes  and  canons,  and  summit 
peaks  plashed  with  snow  like  waves  with  foam. 
How  fresh  the  woods  are  and  calm  after  the 
last  films  of  clouds  have  been  wiped  from  the 
sky!  A  few  minutes  ago  every  tree  was  excited, 
bowing  to  the  roaring  storm,  waving,  swirling, 
tossing  their  branches  in  glorious  enthusiasm 
like  worship.  But  though  to  the  outer  ear  these 
trees  are  now  silent,  their  songs  never  cease. 
Every  hidden  cell  is  throbbing  with  music 
and  life,  every  fibre  thrilling  like  harp  strings, 
while  incense  is  ever  flowing  from  the  balsam 
bells  and  leaves.  No  wonder  the  hills  and 
groves  were  God's  first  temples,  and  the  more 
they  are  cut  down  and  hewn  into  cathedrals 
and  churches,  the  farther  off  and  dimmer  seems 
the  Lord  himself.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
stone  temples.  Yonder,  to  the  eastward  of  our 
camp  grove,  stands  one  of  Nature's  cathedrals, 
hewn  from  the  living  rock,  almost  conventional 
in  form,  about  two  thousand  feet  high,  nobly 
adorned  with  spires  and  pinnacles,  thrilling 
under  floods  of  sunshine  as  if  alive  like  a  grove- 
temple,  and  well  named  "Cathedral  Peak." 
Even  Shepherd  Billy  turns  at  times  to  this 
wonderful  mountain  building,  though  appar- 
ently deaf  to  all  stone  sermons.   Snow  that  re- 

140 


THE  YOSEMITE 

fused  to  melt  in  fire  would  hardly  be  more 
wonderful  than  unchanging  dullness  in  the  rays 
of  God's  beauty.  I  have  been  trying  to  get  him 
to  walk  to  the  brink  of  Yosemite  for  a  view, 
offering  to  watch  the  sheep  for  a  day,  while  he 
should  enjoy  what  tourists  come  from  all  over 
the  world  to  see.  But  though  within  a  mile  of 
the  famous  valley,  he  will  not  go  to  it  even  out 
of  mere  curiosity.  "What,"  says  he,  "is  Yo- 
semite but  a  canon  —  a  lot  of  rocks  —  a  hole 
in  the  ground  —  a  place  dangerous  about  fal- 
ling into  —  a  d — d  good  place  to  keep  away 
from."  "But  think  of  the  waterfalls,  Billy  — 
just  think  of  that  big  stream  we  crossed  the 
other  day,  falhng  half  a  mile  through  the  air  — 
think  of  that,  and  the  sound  it  makes.  You 
can  hear  it  now  Uke  the  roar  of  the  sea."  Thus 
I  pressed  Yosemite  upon  him  like  a  missionary 
offering  the  gospel,  but  he  would  have  none 
of  it.  "I  should  be  afraid  to  look  over  so  high  a 
wall,"  he  said.  "It  would  make  my  head  swim. 
There  is  nothing  worth  seeing  anywhere,  only 
rocks,  and  I  see  plenty  of  them  here.  Tourists 
that  spend  their  money  to  see  rocks  and  falls 
are  fools,  that's  all.  You  can't  humbug  nie. 
I've  been  in  this  country  too  long  for  that." 
Such  souls,  I  suppose,  are  asleep,  or  smothered 
and  befogged  beneath  mean  pleasures  and  cares. 
July  25.    iVnother  cloudland.    Some  clouds 

147 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

have  an  over-ripe  decaying  look,  watery  and 
bedraggled  and  drawn  out  into  wind-torn 
shreds  and  patches,  giving  the  sky  a  littered 
appearance;  not  so  these  Sierra  summer  mid- 
day clouds.  All  are  beautiful  with  smooth  defi- 
nite outlines  and  curves  like  those  of  glacier- 
polished  domes.  They  begin  to  grow  about 
eleven  o'clock,  and  seem  so  wonderfully  near 
and  clear  from  this  high  camp  one  is  tempted 
to  try  to  climb  them  and  trace  the  streams  that 
pour  like  cataracts  from  their  shadowy  foun- 
tains. The  rain  to  which  they  give  birth  is  often 
very  heavy,  a  sort  of  waterfall  as  imposing  as  if 
pouring  from  rock  mountains.  Never  in  all  my 
travels  have  I  found  anything  more  truly  novel 
and  interesting  than  these  midday  mountains 
of  the  sky,  their  fine  tones  of  color,  majestic 
visible  growth,  and  ever-changing  scenery  and 
general  effects,  though  mostly  as  well  let  alone 
as  far  as  description  goes.  I  oftentimes  think 
of  Shelley's  cloud  poem,  ''I  sift  the  snow  on  the 
mountains  below." 


CHAPTER  VI 

MOUNT   HOFFMAN    AND    LAKE   TENAYA 

July  26.  Ramble  to  the  summit  of  Mount 
HofTman,  eleven  thousand  feet  high,  the  highest 
point  in  life's  journey  my  feet  have  yet  touched. 
And  what  glorious  landscapes  are  about  me, 
new  plants,  new  animals,  new  crystals,  and 
multitudes  of  new  mountains  far  higher  than 
HofTman,  towering  in  glorious  array  along 
the  axis  of  the  range,  serene,  majestic,  snow- 
laden,  sun-drenched,  vast  domes  and  ridgos 
shining  below  them,  forests,  lakes,  and  mead- 
ows in  the  hollows,  the  pure  blue  bell-flower 
sky  brooding  them  all,  —  a  glory  day  of  admis- 
sion into  a  new  realm  of  wonders  as  if  Nature 
had  wooingly  whispered,  "Come  higher." 
What  questions  I  asked,  and  how  little  I  know 
of  all  the  vast  show,  and  how  eagerly,  tremu- 
lously hopeful  of  some  day  knowing  more, 
learning  the  meaning  of  these  divine  symbols 
crowded  together  on  this  wondrous  page. 

Mount  Hoffman  is  the  highest  part  of  a  ridge 
or  spur  about  fourteen  miles  from  the  axis  of 
the  main  range,  perhaps  a  remnant  brought 
into  reUef  and  isolated  by  unequal  denudation. 

149 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

The  southern  slopes  shed  their  waters  into 
Yosemite  Valley  by  Tenaya  and  Dome  Creeks, 
the  northern  in  part  into  the  Tuolumne  River, 
but  mostly  into  the  Merced  by  Yosemite  Creek. 
The  rock  is  mostly  granite,  with  some  small 
piles  and  crests  rising  here  and  there  in  pictur- 
esque pillared  and  castellated  remnants  of  red 
metamorphic  slates.  Both  the  granite  and  slates 
are  divided  by  joints,  making  them  separable 
into  blocks  like  the  stones  of  artificial  masonry, 
suggesting  the  Scripture  "He  hath  builded  the 
mountains."  Great  banks  of  snow  and  ice  are 
piled  in  hollows  on  the  cool  precipitous  north 
side  forming  the  highest  perennial  sources  of 
Yosemite  Creek.  The  southern  slopes  are  much 
more  gradual  and  accessible.  Narrow  slot-like 
gorges  extend  across  the  summit  at  right  angles, 
which  look  like  lanes,  formed  evidently  by  the 
erosion  of  less  resisting  beds.  They  are  usually 
called  "devil's  slides,"  though  they  lie  far  above 
the  region  usually  haunted  by  the  devil;  for 
though  we  read  that  he  once  cHmbed  an  exceed- 
ing high  mountain,  he  cannot  be  much  of  a 
mountaineer,  for  his  tracks  are  seldom  seen 
above  the  timber-line. 

The  broad  gray  sununit  is  barren  and  deso- 
late-looking in  general  views,  wasted  by  ages 
of  gnawing  storms;  but  looking  at  the  surface 
in  detail,  one  finds  it  covered  by  thousands 

150 


■•'':■','/. 


#^         iiTI 


.":  ,  >,. ^-<;;^ 


^^^t"-?^ 


Al-rUOAl  II    or    DO.MK   rUKKK   TO 
YOSEMITE 


MT.  IIOFFM.VN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

and  millions  of  charming  plants  with  leaves 
and  flowers  so  small  they  form  no  mass  of  color 
visible  at  a  distance  of  a  few  hundred  yards. 
Beds  of  azm*e  daisies  smile  confidingly  in  moist 
hollows,  and  along  the  banks  of  small  rills, 
with  several  species  of  eriogonum,  silky-leaved 
ivesia,  pentstemon,  orthocarpus,  and  patches 
of  Primula  suffruticosa,  a  beautiful  shrubby 
species.  Here  also  I  found  bryanthus,  a  charm- 
ing heath  wort  covered  with  purple  flowers  and 
dark  green  foliage  hke  heather,  and  three  trees 
new  to  me  —  a  hemlock  and  two  pines.  The 
hemlock  {Tsuga  Mertensiana)  is  the  most 
beautiful  conifer  I  have  ever  seen;  the  branches 
and  also  the  main  axis  droop  in  a  singularly 
graceful  way,  and  the  dense  fohage  covers 
the  delicate,  sensitive,  swaying  branchlets  all 
around.  It  is  now  in  full  bloom,  and  the 
flowers,  together  with  thousands  of  last  sea- 
son's cones  still  clinging  to  the  drooping  sprays, 
display  wonderful  wealth  of  color,  brown  and 
purple  and  blue.  Gladly  I  climbed  the  first 
tree  I  found  to  revel  in  the  midst  of  it.  How 
the  touch  of  the  flowers  makes  one's  flesh  tin- 
gle! The  pistillate  are  dark,  rich  purple,  and 
almost  translucent,  the  staminate  blue,  —  8. 
vivid,  pure  tone  of  blue  like  the  mountain  sky, 
—  the  most  uncommonly  beautiful  of  all  the 
Sierra  tree  flowers  I  have  seen.  How  wonder- 
151 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

fill  that,  with  all  its  delicate  feminine  grace 
and  beauty  of  form  and  dress  and  behavior, 
this  lovely  tree  up  here,  exposed  to  the  wildest 
blasts,  has  already  endured  the  storms  of  cen- 
turies of  winters! 

The  two  pines  also  are  brave  storm-enduring 
trees,  the  mountain  pine  (Pinus  monticola) 
and  the  dwarf  pine  {Pinus  albicauHs).  The 
mountain  pine  is  closely  related  to  the  sugar 
pine,  though  the  cones  are  only  about  four  to 
six  inches  long.  The  largest  trees  are  from 
five  to  six  feet  in  diameter  at  four  feet  above 
the  ground,  the  bark  rich  brown.  Only  a  few 
storm-beaten  adventurers  approach  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain.  The  dwarf  or  white- 
bark  pine  is  the  species  that  forms  the  timber- 
line,  where  it  is  so  completely  dwarfed  that 
one  may  walk  over  the  top  of  a  bed  of  it  as 
over  snow-pressed  chaparral. 

How  boundless  the  day  seems  as  we  revel 
in  these  storm-beaten  sky  gardens  amid  so 
vast  a  congregation  of  onlooking  mountains! 
Strange  and  admirable  it  is  that  the  more  sav- 
age and  chilly  and  storm-chafed  the  moun- 
tains, the  finer  the  glow  on  their  faces  and  the 
finer  the  plants  they  bear.  The  mjo-iads  of 
flowers  tingv^ing  the  mountain-top  do  not  seem 
to  have  grown  out  of  the  dry,  rough  gravel  of 
disintegration,  but  rather  they  appear  as  visi- 

152 


MT.  HOFFMiiN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

tors,  a  cloud  of  witnesses  to  Nature's  love  in 
what  we  in  our  timid  ignorance  and  unlDclief 
call  howling  desert.  The  surface  of  the  ground, 
80  dull  and  forbidding  at  first  sight,  besides 
being  rich  in  plants,  shines  and  sparkles  with 
crystals:  mica,  hornblende,  feldspar,  quartz, 
tourmaline.  The  radiance  in  some  places  is 
so  great  as  to  be  fairly  dazzling,  keen  lance 
rays  of  every  color  flashing,  sparkling  in  glori- 
ous abundance,  joining  the  plants  in  their 
fine,  brave  beauty-work  —  every  crystal,  every 
flower  a  window  opening  into  heaven,  a  mirror 
reflecting  the  Creator. 

From  garden  to  garden,  ridge  to  ridge,  I 
drifted  enchanted,  now  on  my  knees  gazing 
into  the  face  of  a  daisy,  now  climbing  again 
and  again  among  the  purple  and  azure  flowers 
of  the  hemlocks,  now  down  into  the  treasuries 
of  the  snow,  or  gazing  afar  over  domes  and 
peaks,  lakes  and  woods,  and  the  billowy  glaci- 
ated fields  of  the  upper  Tuolumne,  and  try- 
ing to  sketch  them.  In  the  midst  of  such 
beauty,  pierced  with  its  rays,  one's  body  is  all 
one  tingling  palate.  Who  would  n't  be  a  moun- 
taineer! Up  here  all  the  world's  prizes  seem 
nothing. 

The  largest  of  the  many  glacier  lakes  in 
sight,  and  the  one  with  the  finest  shore  scen- 
ery, is  Tenaya,  about  a  mile  long,  with  an  im- 

153 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

posing  mountain  dipping  its  feet  into  it  on 
the  south  side,  Catliedral  Peak  a  few  miles 
above  its  head,  many  smooth  sweUing  rock- 
waves  and  domes  on  the  north,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance southward  a  multitude  of  snowy  peaks, 
the  fountain-heads  of  rivers.  Lake  Hoffman 
lies  shimmering  beneath  my  feet,  mountain 
pines  around  its  shining  rim.  To  the  north- 
ward the  picturesque  basin  of  Yosemite  Creek 
glitters  with  lakelets  and  pools;  but  the  eye  is 
soon  drawn  away  from  these  bright  mirror 
wells,  however  attractive,  to  revel  in  the  glori- 
ous congregation  of  peaks  on  the  axis  of  the 
range  in  their  robes  of  snow  and  light. 

Carlo  caught  an  unfortunate  woodchuck 
when  it  was  running  from  a  grassy  spot  to  its 
boulder-pile  home  —  one  of  the  hardiest  of 
the  mountain  animals.  I  tried  hard  to  save 
him,  but  in  vain.  After  telling  Carlo  that  he 
must  be  careful  not  to  kill  anything,  I  caught 
sight,  for  the  first  time,  of  the  curious  pika,  or 
little  chief  hare,  that  cuts  large  quantities  of 
lupines  and  other  plants  and  lays  them  out  to 
dry  in  the  sun  for  hay,  which  it  stores  in  under- 
ground barns  to  last  through  the  long,  snowy 
winter.  Coming  upon  these  plants  freshly  cut 
and  lying  in  handfuls  here  and  there  on  the 
rocks  has  a  startling  effect  of  busy  life  on  the 
lonely  mountain-top.   These  little  haymakers, 

154 


Cathedral  Peak 


"^ 


MT.  HOFFMAN  AND  LATCE  TENAYA 

endowed  with  brain  stuff  something  Hke  our 
own,  —  God  up  here  looking  after  them,  — 
what  lessons  they  teach,  how  they  widen  our 
sympathy ! 

An  eagle  soaring  above  a  sheer  cliff,  where 
I  suppose  its  nest  is,  makes  another  striking 
show  of  hfe,  and  helps  to  bring  to  mind  the 
other  people  of  the  so-called  solitude  —  deer 
in  the  forest  caring  for  their  young ;  the  strong, 
well-clad,  well-fed  bears;  the  hvely  throng  of 
squirrels;  the  blessed  birds,  great  and  small, 
stirring  and  sweetening  the  groves;  and  the 
clouds  of  happy  insects  fiUing  the  sky  with 
joyous  hum  as  part  and  parcel  of  the  down- 
pouring  sunshine.  All  these  come  to  mind,  as 
well  as  the  plant  people,  and  the  glad  streams 
singing  their  way  to  the  sea.  But  most  im- 
pressive of  all  is  the  vast  glowing  countenance 
of  the  wilderness  in  awful,  infinite  repose. 

Toward  sunset,  enjoyed  a  fine  run  to  camp, 
down  the  long  south  slopes,  across  ridges  and 
ravines,  gardens  and  avalanche  gaps,  through 
the  firs  and  chaparral,  enjoying  wild  excite- 
ment and  excess  of  strength,  and  so  ends  a 
day  that  will  never  end. 

July  27.  Up  and  away  to  Lake  Tenaya,  — 
another  big  day,  enough  for  a  Ufetime.  The 
rocks,  the  air,  everything  speaking  with  aud- 
ible voice  or  silent;  joyful,  wonderful,  enchant- 

155 


MY  FIRST  SIIMIVIER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ing,  banishing  weariness  and  sense  of  time. 
No  longing  for  anything  now  or  hereafter  as 
we  go  home  into  the  mountain's  heart.  The 
level  sunbeams  are  touching  the  fir-tops,  every 
leaf  shining  with  dew.  Am  holding  an  easterly 
course,  the  deep  caiion  of  Tenaya  Creek  on 
the  right  hand.  Mount  Hoffman  on  the  left, 
and  the  lake  straight  ahead  about  ten  miles 
distant,  the  summit  of  Mount  Hoffman  about 
three  thousand  feet  above  me,  Tenaya  Creek 
four  thousand  feet  below  and  separated  from 
the  shallow,  irregular  valley,  along  which  most 
of  the  way  lies,  by  smooth  domes  and  wave- 
ridges.  Many  mossy  emerald  bogs,  meadows, 
and  gardens  in  rocky  holbws  to  wade  and 
saunter  through  —  and  what  fine  plants  they 
give  me,  what  joyful  streams  I  have  to  cross, 
and  how  many  views  are  displayed  of  the 
Hoffman  and  Cathderal  Peak  masonry,  and 
what  a  wondrous  breadth  of  shining  granite 
pavement  to  walk  over  for  the  first  time  about 
the  shores  of  the  lake!  On  I  sauntered  in  free- 
dom complete;  body  without  weight  as  far  as 
I  was  aware;  now  wading  through  starry  par- 
nassia  bogs,  now  through  gardens  shoulder 
deep  in  larkspur  and  lilies,  grasses  and  rushes, 
shaking  off  showers  of  dew;  crossing  piles  of 
crystalHne  moraine  boulders,  bright  mirror 
pavements,  and  cool,  cheery  streams  going  to 
156 


MT.  IIOFFIVIAN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

Yoscmite;  crossing  bryanthus  carpets  and  the 
scoured  pathways  of  avalanches,  and  thickets 
of  snow-pressed  ceanothus;  then  down  a  broad, 
majestic  stairway  into  the  ice-sculptured  lake- 
basin. 

The  snow  on  the  high  mountains  is  melting 
fast,  and  the  streams  are  singing  bank-full, 
swaying  softly  through  the  level  meadows  and 
bogs,  quivering  with  sun-spangles,  swirling 
in  pot-holes,  resting  in  deep  pools,  leaping, 
shouting  in  wild,  exulting  energy  over  rough 
boulder  dams,  joyful,  beautiful  in  all  their 
forms.  No  Sierra  landscape  that  I  have  seen 
holds  anything  truly  dead  or  dull,  or  any  trace 
of  what  in  manufactories  is  called  rubbish  or 
waste;  everything  is  perfectly  clean  and  pure 
and  full  of  divine  lessons.  This  quick,  inevi- 
table interest  attaching  to  everything  seems 
marvelous  until  the  hand  of  God  becomes 
visible;  then  it  seems  reasonable  that  what 
interests  Him  may  well  interest  us.  When  we 
try  to  pick  out  anything  by  itself,  we  find  it 
hitched  to  everything  else  in  the  universe. 
One  fancies  a  heart  like  our  own  must  be  beat- 
ing in  every  crystal  and  cell,  and  we  feel  like 
stopping  to  speak  to  the  plants  and  anmials 
as  friendly  fellow  mountaineers.  Nature  as 
a  poet,  an  enthusiastic  workingman,  becomes 
more  and  more  visible  the  farther  and  higher 

157 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

wo  go ;  for  the  mountains  are  fountains  —  be- 
ginning places,  however  related  to  sources 
beyond  mortal  ken. 

I  found  three  kinds  of  meadows:  (1)  Those 
contained  in  basins  not  yet  filled  with  earth 
enough  to  make  a  dry  surface.  They  are 
planted  with  several  species  of  carex,  and  have 
their  margins  diversified  with  robust  flowering 
plants  such  as  veratrum,  larkspur,  lupine, 
etc.  (2)  Those  contained  in  the  same  sort  of 
basins,  once  lakes  Uke  the  first,  but  so  situated 
in  relation  to  the  streams  that  flow  through 
them  and  beds  of  transportable  sand,  gravel, 
etc.,  that  they  are  now  high  and  dry  and  well 
drained.  This  dry  condition  and  correspond- 
ing difference  in  their  vegetation  may  be 
caused  by  no  superiority  of  position,  or  power 
of  transporting  filling  material  in  the  streams 
that  belong  to  them,  but  simply  by  the  basin 
being  shallow  and  therefore  sooner  filled.  They 
are  planted  with  grasses,  mostly  fine,  silky, 
and  rather  short-leaved,  Calamagrostis  and 
Agrostis  being  the  principal  genera.  They  form 
delightfully  smooth,  level  sods  in  which  one 
finds  two  or  three  species  of  gentian  and  as 
many  of  purple  and  yellow  orthocarpus,  violet, 
vaccinium,  kalmia,  bryanthus,  and  lonicera. 
(3)  Meadows  hanging  on  ridge  and  mountain 
slopes,  not  in  basins  at  all,  but  made  and  held 

158 


MT.  IIOFFiVLVN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

in  place  by  masses  of  boulders  and  fallen  trees, 
which,  forming  dams  one  above  another  in 
close  succession  on  small,  outspread,  chan- 
nelless  streams,  have  collected  soil  enough, 
for  the  growth  of  grasses,  carices,  and  many 
flowering  plants,  and  being  kept  well  watered, 
without  being  subject  to  currents  sufficiently 
strong  to  carry  them  away,  a  hanging  or  slop- 
ing meadow  is  the  result.  Their  surfaces  are 
seldom  so  smooth  as  the  others,  being  rough- 
ened more  or  less  by  the  projecting  tops  of  the 
dam  rocks  or  logs;  but  at  a  httle  distance  this 
roughness  is  not  noticed,  and  the  effect  is  very 
striking  —  bright  green,  fluent,  down-sweep- 
ing flowery  ribbons  on  gray  slopes.  The  broad 
shallow  streams  these  meadows  belong  to  are 
mostly  derived  from  banks  of  snow  and  be- 
cause the  soil  is  well  drained  in  some  places, 
while  in  others  the  dam  rocks  are  packed  close 
and  caulked  with  bits  of  wood  and  leaves,  mak- 
ing boggy  patches;  the  vegetation,  of  course, 
is  correspondingly  varied.  I  saw  patches  of 
willow,  bryanthus,  and  a  fine  show  of  lilies 
on  some  of  them,  not  forming  a  margin,  but 
scattered  about  among  the  carex  and  grass. 
Most  of  these  meadows  are  now  in  their  prime. 
How  wonderful  must  be  the  temper  of  the 
elastic  leaves  of  grasses  and  sedges  to  make 
curves  so  perfect  and  fine.   Tempered  a  little 

159 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

harder,  they  would  stand  erect,  stiff  and  bristly, 
like  strips  of  metal;  a  little  softer,  and  every 
leaf  would  lie  flat.  And  what  fine  painting  and 
tinting  there  is  on  the  glumes  and  pales,  sta- 
mens  and  feathery  pistils.  Butterflies  colored 
like  the  flowers  waver  above  them  in  wonder- 
ful profusion,  and  many  other  beautiful  winged 
people,  numbered  and  known  and  loved  only 
by  the  Lord,  are  waltzing  together  high  over 
head,  seemingly  in  pure  play  and  hilarious 
enjoyment  of  their  little  sparks  of  life.  How 
wonderful  they  are!  How  do  they  get  a  living, 
and  endure  the  weather?  How  are  their  Uttle 
bodies,  with  muscles,  nerves,  organs,  kept 
warm  and  jolly  in  such  admirable  exuberant 
health?  Regarded  only  as  mechanical  inven- 
tions, how  wonderful  they  are!  Compared 
with  these,  GodHke  man's  greatest  machines 
are  as  nothing. 

Most  of  the  sandy  gardens  on  moraines  are 
in  prime  beauty  like  the  meadows,  though 
some  on  the  north  sides  of  rocks  and  beneath 
groves  of  sapling  pines  have  not  yet  bloomed. 
On  sunny  sheets  of  crystal  soil  along  the  slopes 
of  the  Hoffman  Mountains,  I  saw  extensive 
patches  of  ivesia  and  purple  gilia  with  scarce 
a  green  leaf,  making  fine  clouds  of  color.  Ribes 
bushes,  vaccinium,  and  kalmia,  now  in  flower, 
make  beautiful  rugs  and  borders  along  the 
160 


MT.  HOFFMAN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

banks  of  the  streams.  Shaggy  beds  of  dwarf 
oak  {Quercus  chrysolepis,  var.  vaccinifolia)  over 
which  one  may  walk  are  common  on  rocky 
moraines,  yet  this  is  the  same  species  as  the 
large  live  oak  seen  near  Brown's  Flat.  The 
most  beautiful  of  the  shrubs  is  the  purple- 
flowered  bryanthus,  here  making  glorious  car- 
pets at  an  elevation  of  nine  thousand  feet. 

The  principal  tree  for  the  first  mile  or  two 
from  camp  is  the  magnificent  silver  fir,  which 
reaches  perfection  here  both  in  size  and  form 
of  individual  trees,  and  in  the  mode  of  group- 
ing in  groves  with  open  spaces  between.  So 
trim  and  tasteful  are  these  silvery,  spiry  groves 
one  would  fancy  they  must  have  been  placed 
in  position  by  some  master  landscape  gardener, 
their  regularity  seeming  almost  conventional. 
But  Nature  is  the  only  gardener  able  to  do 
work  so  fine.  A  few  noble  specimens  two  hun- 
dred feet  high  occupy  central  positions  in  the 
groups  with  younger  trees  around  them;  and 
outside  of  these  another  circle  of  yet  smaller 
ones,  the  whole  arranged  hke  tastefully  sym- 
metrical bouquets,  every  tree  fitting  nicely 
the  place  assigned  to  it  as  if  made  especially 
for  it;  small  roses  and  eriogonums  are  usually 
found  blooming  on  the  open  spaces  about  the 
groves,  forming  charming  pleasure  grounds. 
Higher,  the  firs  gradually  become  smaller  and 
161 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

less  perfect,  many  showing  double  summits, 
indicating  storm  stress.  Still,  where  good 
moraine  soil  is  found,  even  on  the  rim  of  the 
lake-basin,  specimens  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  in  height  and  five  feet  in  diameter  occur 
nearly  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  The 
saplings,  I  find,  are  mostly  bent  with  the 
crushing  weight  of  the  winter  snow,  which  at 
this  elevation  must  be  at  least  eight  or  ten  feet 
deep,  judging  by  marks  on  the  trees;  and  this 
depth  of  compacted  snow  is  heavy  enough  to 
bend  and  bury  young  trees  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  in  height  and  hold  them  down  for  four 
or  five  months.  Some  are  broken ;  the  others 
spring  up  when  the  snow  melts  and  at  length 
attain  a  size  that  enables  them  to  withstand 
the  snow  pressure.  Yet  even  in  trees  five  feet 
thick  the  traces  of  this  early  discipline  are  still 
plainly  to  be  seen  in  their  curved  insteps,  and 
frequently  in  old  dried  saphngs  protruding 
from  the  trunk,  partially  overgrown  by  the 
new  axis  developed  from  a  branch  below  the 
break.  Yet  through  all  this  stress  the  forest 
is  maintained  in  marvelous  beauty. 

Beyond  the  silver  firs  I  find  the  two-leaved 
pine  {Pinus  contorta,  var.  Murrayana)  forms 
the  bulk  of  the  forest  up  to  an  elevation  of  ten 
thousand  feet  or  more  —  the  highest  timber- 
belt  of  the  Sierra.  I  saw  a  specimen  nearly  five 
162 


MT.  IIOFFIVLVN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

feet  in  diameter  growing  on  deep,  well-watered 
soil  at  an  elevation  of  about  nine  thousand 
feet.  The  form  of  this  species  varies  very 
much  with  position,  exposure,  soil,  etc.  On 
stream-banks,  where  it  is  closely  planted,  it 
is  very  slender;  some  specimens  seventy-five 
feet  high  do  not  exceed  five  inches  in  diameter 
at  the  ground,  but  the  ordinary  form,  as  far 
as  I  have  seen,  is  well  proportioned.  The  aver- 
age diameter  when  full  grown  at  this  eleva- 
tion is  about  twelve  or  fourteen  inches,  height 
forty  or  fifty  feet,  the  straggling  branches  bent 
up  at  the  end,  the  bark  thin  and  bedraggled 
with  amber-colored  resin.  The  pistillate  flowers 
form  little  crimson  rosettes  a  fourth  of  an  inch 
in  diameter  on  the  ends  of  the  branchlets, 
mostly  hidden  in  the  leaf -tassels;  the  stami- 
nate  are  about  three  eighths  of  an  inch  in  diam- 
eter, sulphur-yellow,  in  showy  clusters,  giv- 
ing a  remarkably  rich  effect  —  a  brave,  hardy 
mountaineer  pine,  growing  cheerily  on  rough 
beds  of  avalanche  boulders  and  joints  of  rock 
pavements,  as  well  as  in  fertile  hollows,  stand- 
ing up  to  the  waist  in  snow  every  winter  for 
centuries,  facing  a  thousand  storms  and  bloom- 
ing every  year  in  colors  as  bright  as  those 
worn  by  the  sun-drenched  trees  of  the  tropics. 
A  still  hardier  mountaineer  is  the  Sierra  ju- 
niper {Juniperus  occidcnialis) ,  growing  mostly 

103 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

on  domes  and  ridges  and  glacier  pavements. 
A  thickset,  sturdy,  picturesque  highlander, 
seemingly  content  to  live  for  more  than  a 
score  of  centuries  on  sunshine  and  snow;  a 
truly  wonderful  fellow,  dogged  endurance  ex- 
pressed in  every  feature,  lasting  about  as  long 
as  the  granite  he  stands  on.  Some  are  nearly 
as  broad  as  high.  I  saw  one  on  the  shore  of 
the  lake  nearly  ten  feet  in  diameter,  and  many 
six  to  eight  feet.  The  bark,  cinnamon-colored, 
flakes  off  in  long  ribbon-hke  strips  with  a  sat- 
iny luster.  Surely  the  most  enduring  of  all  tree 
mountaineers,  it  never  seems  to  die  a  natural 
death,  or  even  to  fall  after  it  has  been  killed. 
If  protected  from  accidents,  it  would  perhaps 
be  immortal.  I  saw  some  that  had  withstood 
an  avalanche  from  snowy  Mount  Hoffman 
cheerily  putting  out  new  branches,  as  if  re- 
peating, like  Grip,  ''Never  say  die."  Some 
were  simply  standing  on  the  pavement  where 
no  fissure  more  than  half  an  inch  wide  offered 
a  hold  for  its  roots.  The  common  height  for 
these  rock-dwellers  is  from  ten  to  twenty  feet; 
most  of  the  old  ones  have  broken  tops,  and 
are  mere  stumps,  with  a  few  tufted  branches, 
forming  picturesque  brown  pillars  on  bare 
pavements,  with  plenty  of  elbow-room  and  a 
clear  view  in  every  direction.  On  good  mo- 
raine soil  it  reaches  a  height  of  from  forty  to 
164 


r 


-i:%:J^ 


.IINiriOKS    IN    TKNAVA   CANON 


MT.  IIOFF]VL\N  AND  LAICE  TENAYA 

sixty  feet,  with  dense  gray  foliage.  The  rings 
of  the  trunk  are  very  thin,  eighty  to  an  inch 
of  diameter  in  some  specimens  I  examined. 
Those  ten  feet  in  diameter  must  be  very  old 
—  thousands  of  years.  Wish  I  could  live,  like 
these  junipers,  on  sunshine  and  snow,  and 
stand  beside  them  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Ten- 
aya  for  a  thousand  years.  How  much  I  should 
see,  and  how  delightful  it  would  be!  Every- 
thing in  the  mountains  would  find  me  and 
come  to  me,  and  everything  from  the  heavens 
like  light. 

The  lake  was  named  for  one  of  the  chiefs  of 
the  Yosemite  tribe.  Old  Tenaya  is  said  to 
have  been  a  good  Indian  to  his  tribe.  When 
a  company  of  soldiers  followed  his  band  into 
Yosemite  to  punish  them  for  cattle-stealing 
and  other  crimes,  they  fled  to  this  lake  by  a 
trail  that  leads  out  of  the  upper  end  of  the 
valley,  early  in  the  spring,  while  the  snow  was 
still  deep;  but  being  pursued,  they  lost  heart 
and  surrendered.  A  fine  monument  the  old 
man  has  in  this  bright  lake,  and  likely  to  last 
a  long  time,  though  lakes  die  as  well  as  Indians, 
being  grad.ially  filled  with  detritus  carried 
in  by  the  feeding  streams,  and  to  some  extent 
also  by  snow  avalanches  and  rain  and  wind. 
A  considerable  portion  of  the  Tenaya  basin 
is  already  changed  into  a  forested  flat  and 
165 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

meadow  at  the  upper  end,  where  the  main 
tributary  enters  from  Cathedral  Peak.  Two 
other  tributaries  come  from  the  Hoffman 
Range.  The  outlet  flows  westward  through 
Tenaya  Caiion  to  join  the  Merced  River  in 
Yosemite.  Scarce  a  handful  of  loose  soil  is  to 
be  seen  on  the  north  shore.  All  is  bare,  shin- 
ing granite,  suggesting  the  Indian  name  of  the 
lake,  Pywiack,  meaning  shining  rock.  The 
basin  seems  to  have  been  slowly  excavated 
by  the  ancient  glaciers,  a  marvelous  work  re- 
quiring countless  thousands  of  years.  On  the 
south  side  an  imposing  mountain  rises  from 
the  water's  edge  to  a  height  of  three  thousand 
feet  or  more,  feathered  with  hemlock  and  pine ; 
and  huge  shining  domes  on  the  east,  over  the 
tops  of  which  the  grinding,  wasting,  mold- 
ing glacier  must  have  swept  as  the  wind  does 
to-day. 

July  28.  No  cloud  mountains,  only  curly 
currus  wisps  scarce  perceptible,  and  the  want 
of  thunder  to  strike  the  noon  hour  seems 
strange,  as  if  the  Sierra  clock  had  stopped. 
Have  been  studying  the  magnifica  fir  —  meas- 
ured one  near  two  hundred  and  forty  feet  high, 
the  tallest  I  have  yet  seen.  This  species  is  the 
most  symmetrical  of  all  conifers,  but  though 
gigantic  in  size  it  seldom  lives  more  than  four 
or  five  hundred  years.  Most  of  the  trees  die 
166 


MT.  IIOFFMiVN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

from  the  attacks  of  a  fungus  at  the  age  of  two 
or  three  centuries.  This  dry-rot  fungus  per- 
haps enters  the  trunk  by  way  of  the  stumps  of 
limbs  broken  off  by  the  snow  that  loads  the 
broad  palmate  branches.  The  younger  speci- 
mens are  marvels  of  symmetry,  straight  and 
erect  as  a  plumb-line,  their  branches  in  regular 
level  whorls  of  five  mostly,  each  branch  as 
exact  in  its  divisions  as  a  fern  frond,  and  thickly 
covered  by  the  leaves,  making  a  rich  plush 
over  all  the  tree,  excepting  only  the  trunk  and 
a  small  portion  of  the  main  limbs.  The  leaves 
turn  upward,  especially  on  the  branchlets,  and 
are  stiff  and  sharp,  pointed  on  all  the  upper 
portion  of  the  tree.  They  remain  on  the  tree 
about  eight  or  ten  years,  and  as  the  growth  is 
rapid  it  is  not  rare  to  find  the  leaves  still  in 
place  on  the  upper  part  of  the  axis  where  it  is 
three  to  four  inches  in  diameter,  wide  apart  of 
course,  and  their  spiral  arrangement  beauti- 
fully displayed.  The  leaf-scars  are  conspicuous 
for  twenty  years  or  more,  but  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  variation  in  different  trees  as  to  the 
thickness  and  sharpness  of  the  leaves. 

After  the  excursion  to  Mount  Hoffman  I  had 
seen  a  complete  cross-section  of  the  Sierra 
forest,  and  I  find  that  Ahics  magnifica  is  the 
most  symmetrical  tree  of  all  the  noble  conifer- 
ous company.  The  cones  are  grand  affairs, 
167 


MY  FIRST  SUMIVIER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

superb  in  form,  size,  and  color,  cylindrical, 
stand  erect  on  the  upper  branches  like  casks, 
and  are  from  five  to  eight  inches  in  length  by 
three  or  four  in  diameter,  greenish  gray,  and 
covered  with  fine  down  which  has  a  silvery 
luster  in  the  sunshine,  and  their  brilliance  is 
augmented  by  beads  of  transparent  balsam 
which  seems  to  have  been  poured  over  each 
cone,  bringing  to  mind  the  old  ceremonies  of 
anointing  with  oil.  If  possible,  the  inside  of 
the  cone  is  more  beautiful  than  the  outside;  the 
scales,  bracts,  and  seed  wings  are  tinted  with 
the  loveliest  rosy  purple  with  a  bright  lustrous 
iridescence;  the  seeds,  three  fourths  of  an  inch 
long,  are  dark  brown.  When  the  cones  are  ripe 
the  scales  and  bracts  fall  off,  setting  the  seeds 
free  to  fly  to  their  predestined  places,  while  the 
dead  spike-like  axes  are  left  on  the  branches 
for  many  years  to  mark  the  positions  of  the 
vanished  cones,  excepting  those  cut  off  when 
green  by  the  Douglas  squirrel.  How  he  gets  his 
teeth  under  the  broad  bases  of  the  sessile  cones, 
I  don't  know.  Climbing  these  trees  on  a  sunny 
day  to  visit  the  growing  cones  and  to  gaze  over 
the  tops  of  the  forest  is  one  of  my  best  enjoy- 
ments. 

July  29.  Bright,  cool,  exhilarating.  Clouds 
about  .05.  Another  glorious  day  of  rambling, 
sketching,  and  universal  enjoyment. 

168 


MT.  HOFFMAN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

July  30.  Clouds  .20,  hut  the  regular  shower 
did  not  reach  us,  though  tliunder  was  heard  a 
few  miles  off  striking  the  noon  hour.  Ants, 
flies,  and  mosquitoes  seem  to  enjoy  this  fine 
climate.  A  few  house-flies  have  discovered  our 
camp.  The  Sierra  mosquitoes  are  courageous 
and  of  good  size,  some  of  them  measuring 
nearly  an  inch  from  tip  of  sting  to  tip  of 
folded  wings.  Though  less  abundant  than  in 
most  wildernesses,  they  occasionally  make  quite 
a  hum  and  stir,  and  pay  but  little  attention  to 
time  or  place.  They  sting  anywhere,  any  time 
of  day,  wherever  they  can  find  anything  worth 
while,  until  they  are  themselves  stung  by  frost. 
The  large,  jet-black  ants  are  only  ticklish  and 
troublesome  when  one  is  lying  down  under  the 
trees.  Noticed  a  borer  dialling  a  silver  fir.  Ovi- 
positor about  an  inch  and  a  half  in  length, 
polished  and  straight  like  a  needle.  When  not 
in  use,  it  is  folded  back  in  a  sheath,  which  ex- 
tends straight  behind  like  the  legs  of  a  crane  in 
flying.  This  drilling,  I  suppose,  is  to  save  nest 
building,  and  the  after  care  of  feeding  the 
young.  Who  would  guess  that  in  the  brain  of  a 
fly  so  much  knowledge  could  find  lodgment? 
How  do  they  know  that  their  eggs  will  hatch 
in  such  holes,  or,  after  they  hatch,  that  the 
soft,  helpless  grubs  will  find  the  right  sort  of 
nourishment  in  silver  fir  sap?  This  domestic 
169 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

arrangement  calls  to  mind  the  curious  family 
of  gallflies.  Each  species  seems  to  know  what 
kind  of  plant  will  respond  to  the  irritation  or 
stimulus  of  the  puncture  it  makes  and  the  eggs 
it  lays,  in  forming  a  growth  that  not  only  an- 
swers for  a  nest  and  home  but  also  provides  food 
for  the  young.  Probably  these  gallflies  make 
mistakes  at  times,  like  anybody  else;  but  when 
they  do,  there  is  simply  a  failure  of  that  partic- 
ular brood,  while  enough  to  perpetuate  the 
species  do  find  the  proper  plants  and  nourish- 
ment. Many  mistakes  of  this  kind  might  be 
made  without  being  discovered  by  us.  Once  a 
pair  of  wrens  made  the  mistake  of  building  a 
nest  in  the  sleeve  of  a  workman's  coat,  which 
was  called  for  at  sundown,  much  to  the  con- 
sternation and  discomfiture  of  the  birds.  Still 
the  marvel  remains  that  any  of  the  children  of 
such  small  people  as  gnats  and  mosquitoes 
should  escape  their  own  and  their  parents'  mis- 
takes, as  well  as  the  vicissitudes  of  the  weather 
and  hosts  of  enemies,  and  come  forth  in  full 
vigor  and  perfection  to  enjoy  the  sunny  world. 
When  we  think  of  the  small  creatures  that  are 
visible,  we  are  led  to  think  of  many  that  are 
smaller  still  and  lead  us  on  and  on  into  infinite 
mystery. 

Juhj  31.    Another  glorious  day,  the  air  as 
delicious  to  the  lungs  as  nectar  to  the  tongue; 
170 


MT.  HOFFMAN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

indeed  the  body  seems  one  palate,  and  tinples 
ccjually  throughout.  Cloudiness  about  .05,  but 
oui'  ordinary  shower  has  not  yet  reached  us, 
though  I  hear  thunder  in  the  distance. 

The  cheery  little  chipmunk,  so  common 
about  Brown's  Flat,  is  common  here  also,  and 
perhaps  other  species.  In  their  light,  airy  habits 
they  recall  the  familiar  species  of  the  Eastern 
States,  which  we  admired  in  the  oak  openings 
of  Wisconsin  as  they  skimmed  along  the  zigzag 
rail  fences.  These  Sierra  chipmunks  are  more 
arboreal  and  squirrel-like.  I  first  noticed  them 
on  the  lower  edge  of  the  coniferous  belt,  where 
the  Sabine  and  yellow  pines  meet,  —  exceed- 
ingly interesting  little  fellows,  full  of  odd,  funny 
ways,  and  without  being  true  squirrels,  have 
most  of  their  acomplishments  without  their 
aggressive  quarrelsomeness.  I  never  weary 
watching  them  as  they  frisk  about  in  the  bushes 
gathering  seeds  and  berries,  like  song  sparrows 
poising  daintily  on  slender  twigs,  and  making 
even  less  stir  than  most  birds  of  the  same  size. 
Few  of  the  Sierra  animals  interest  me  more; 
they  are  so  able,  gentle,  confiding,  and  beauti- 
ful, they  take  one's  heart,  and  get  themselves 
adopted  as  darlings.  Though  weighing  hardly 
more  than  field  mice,  they  are  laborious  col- 
lectors of  seeds,  nuts,  and  cones,  and  are  there- 
fore well  fed,  but  never  in  the  least  swollen 

171 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

with  fat  or  lazily  full.  On  the  contrary,  of  their 
frisky,  birdlike  liveliness  there  is  no  end.  They 
have  a  great  variety  of  notes  corresponding 
with  their  movements,  some  sweet  and  liquid, 
like  water  dripping  with  tinkling  sounds  into 
pools.  They  seem  dearly  to  love  teasing  a  dog, 
coming  frequently  almost  within  reach,  then 
frisking  away  with  lively  chipping,  like  spar- 
rows,  beating  time  to  their  music  with  their 
tails,  which  at  each  chip  describe  half  circles 
from  side  to  side.  Not  even  the  Douglas  squir- 
rel is  surer-footed  or  more  fearless.  I  have  seen 
them  running  about  on  sheer  precipices  of  the 
Yosemite  walls  seemingly  holding  on  with  as 
little  effort  as  flies,  and  as  unconscious  of  dan- 
ger, where,  if  the  slightest  slip  were  made,  they 
would  have  fallen  two  or  three  thousand  feet. 
How  fine  it  would  be  could  we  mountaineers 
climb  these  tremendous  cliffs  with  the  same 
sure  grip!  The  venture  I  made  the  other  day 
for  a  view  of  the  Yosemite  Fall,  and  which  tried 
my  nerves  so  sorely,  this  little  Tamias  would 
have  made  for  an  ear  of  grass. 

The  woodchuck  (Ardomys  monax)  of  the 
bleak  mountain-tops  is  a  very  different  sort  of 
mountaineer  —  the  most  bovine  of  rodents,  a 
heavy  eater,  fat,  aldermanic  in  bulk  and  fairly 
bloated,  in  his  high  pastures,  like  a  cow  in  a 
clover  field.  One  woodchuck  would  outweigh  a 

172 


MT.  HOFFMAN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

hundred  chipmunks,  and  yet  he  is  by  no  means 
a  dull  animal.  In  the  midst  of  what  we  regard 
as  storm-beaten  desolation  he  pipes  and  whis- 
tles right  cheerily,  and  enjoys  long  life  in  his 
skyland  homes.  His  burrow  is  made  in  disin- 
tegrated rocks  or  beneath  large  boulders.  Com- 
ing out  of  his  den  in  the  cold  hoarfrost  mornings, 
he  takes  a  sun-bath  on  some  favorite  flat- 
topped  rock,  then  goes  to  breakfast  in  garden 
hollows,  eats  grass  and  flowers  until  comfort- 
ably swollen,  then  goes  a-visiting  to  fight  and 
play.  How  long  a  woodchuck  lives  in  this  brac- 
ing air  I  don't  know,  but  some  of  them  are 
rusty  and  gray  like  Uchen-covered  boulders. 

August  1.  A  grand  cloudland  and  five- 
minute  shower,  refreshing  the  blessed  wilder- 
ness, already  so  fragrant  and  fresh,  steeping 
the  black  meadow  mold  and  dead  leaves  like 
tea. 

The  waycup,  or  flicker,  so  familiar  to  every 
boy  in  the  old  Middle  West  States,  is  one  of 
the  most  common  of  the  wood-peckers  here- 
abouts, and  makes  one  feel  at  home.  I  can  see 
no  difference  in  plumage  or  habits  from  the 
Eastern  species,  though  the  climate  here  is  so 
different,  —  a  fine,  brave,  confiding,  beautiful 
bird.  The  robin,  too,  is  here,  with  all  his  fa- 
miliar notes  and  gestures,  tripping  daintily  on 
open  garden  spots  and  high  meadows.  Over  all 
173 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

America  he  seems  to  be  at  home,  moving  from 
the  plains  to  the  mountains  and  from  north  to 
south,  back  and  forth,  up  and  down,  with  the 
march  of  the  seasons  and  food  supply.  How 
admirable  the  constitution  and  temper  of  this 
brave  singer,  keeping  in  cheery  health  over 
so  vast  and  varied  a  range!  Oftentimes,  as 
I  wander  through  these  solemn  woods,  awe- 
stricken  and  silent,  I  hear  the  reassuring  voice 
of  this  fellow  wanderer  ringing  out,  sweet  and 
clear,  "Fear  not!  fear  not!" 

The  mountain  quail  {Oreortyx  ricta)  I  often 
meet  in  my  walks  —  a  small  brown  partridge 
with  a  very  long,  slender,  ornamental  crest 
worn  jauntily  like  a  feather  in  a  boy's  cap,  giv- 
ing it  a  very  marked  appearance.  This  species 
is  considerably  larger  than  the  valley  quail,  so 
common  on  the  hot  foothills.  They  seldom 
alight  in  trees,  but  love  to  wander  in  flocks  of 
from  five  or  six  to  twenty  through  the  ceano- 
thus  and  manzanita  thickets  and  over  open, 
dry  meadows  and  rocks  of  the  ridges  where  the 
forest  is  less  dense  or  wanting,  uttering  a  low 
clucking  sound  to  enable  them  to  keep  together. 
WTien  disturbed  they  rise  with  a  strong  birr  of 
wing-beats,  and  scatter  as  if  exploded  to  a  dis- 
tance of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so.  After  the 
danger  is  past  they  call  one  another  together 
with  a  loud  piping  note  —  Nature's  beautiful 
174 


MT.  HOFFMAN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

mountain  chickens.  I  have  not  yet  found  their 
nests.  The  young  of  this  season  arc  already 
hatched  and  away  —  new  broods  of  liappy 
wanderers  half  as  large  as  their  parents.  I 
wonder  how  they  live  through  the  long  win- 
ters, when  the  ground  is  snow-covered  ten  feet 
deep.  They  must  go  down  towards  the  lower 
edge  of  the  forest,  like  the  deer,  though  I  have 
not  heard  of  them  there. 

The  blue,  or  dusky,  grouse  is  also  common 
here.  They  like  the  deepest  and  closest  fir 
woods,  and  when  disturbed,  burst  from  the 
branches  of  the  trees  with  a  strong,  loud  whir 
of  wing-beats,  and  va.T\yi  in  a  wavering,  silent 
ehde,  without  moving  a  feather  —  a  stout, 
beautiful  bird  about  the  size  of  the  prairie 
chicken  of  the  old  west,  spending  most  of  the 
time  in  the  trees,  excepting  the  breeding  sea- 
son, when  it  keeps  to  the  ground.  The  young 
are  now  able  to  fly.  When  scattered  by  man 
or  dog,  they  keep  still  until  the  danger  is  sup- 
posed to  be  passed,  then  the  mother  calls  them 
together.  The  chicks  can  hear  the  call  a  dis- 
tance of  several  hundred  yards,  though  it  is  not 
loud.  Should  the  young  be  unable  to  fly,  the 
mother  feigns  desperate  lameness  or  death 
to  draw  one  away,  throwing  herself  at  one's 
feet  within  two  or  three  yards,  rolling  over 
on  her  back,  kicking  and  gasping,  so  as  to  de- 
175 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ceive  man  or  beast.  They  are  said  to  stay  all 
the  year  in  the  woods  hereabouts,  taking  shel- 
ter in  dense  tufted  branches  of  fir  and  yellow 
pine  during  snowstorms,  and  feeding  on  the 
young  buds  of  these  trees.  Their  legs  are 
feathered  down  to  their  toes,  and  I  have  never 
heard  of  their  suffering  in  any  sort  of  weather. 
Able  to  live  on  pine  and  fir  buds,  they  are  for- 
ever independent  in  the  matter  of  food,  which 
troubles  so  many  of  us  and  controls  our  move- 
ments. Gladly,  if  I  could,  I  would  Uve  for- 
ever on  pine  buds,  however  full  of  turpentine 
and  pitch,  for  the  sake  of  this  grand  inde- 
pendence. Just  to  think  of  our  sufferings  last 
month  merely  for  grist-mill  flour.  Man  seems 
to  have  more  difficulty  in  gaining  food  than 
any  other  of  the  Lord's  creatures.  For  many 
in  towns  it  is  a  consuming,  lifelong  struggle; 
for  others,  the  danger  of  coming  to  want  is  so 
great,  the  deadly  habit  of  endless  hoarding 
for  the  future  is  formed,  which  smothers  all 
real  hfe,  and  is  continued  long  after  every  rea- 
sonable need  has  been  over-supplied. 

On  Mount  Hoffman  I  saw  a  curious  dove- 
colored  bird  that  seemed  half  woodpecker, 
half  magpie,  or  crow.  It  screams  something 
like  a  crow,  but  flies  like  a  woodpecker,  and 
has  a  long,  straight  bill,  with  which  I  saw  it 
opening  the  cones  of  the  mountain  and  white- 
176 


MT.  HOFFIVIAN  AND  LAKE  TENAYA 

barked  pines.  It  seems  to  keep  to  the  heights, 
though  no  doubt  it  comes  down  for  shelter 
during  winter,  if  not  for  food.  So  far  as  food 
is  concerned,  these  bird-mountaineers,  I  guess, 
can  glean  nuts  enough,  even  in  winter,  from 
the  different  kinds  of  conifers ;  for  always  there 
are  a  few  that  have  been  unable  to  fly  out 
of  the  cones  and  remain  for  hungry  winter 
gleaners. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   STRANGE    EXPERIENCE 

August  2.  Clouds  and  showers,  about  the 
same  as  yesterday.  Sketching  all  day  on  the 
North  Dome  until  four  or  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  when,  as  I  was  busily  employed 
thinking  only  of  the  glorious  Yosemite  land- 
scape, trying  to  draw  every  tree  and  every  Hne 
and  feature  of  the  rocks,  I  was  suddenly,  and 
without  warning,  possessed  with  the  notion 
that  my  friend.  Professor  J.  D.  Butler,  of  the 
State  University  of  Wisconsin,  was  below  me 
in  the  valley,  and  I  jumped  up  full  of  the  idea 
of  meeting  him,  with  almost  as  much  startling 
excitement  as  if  he  had  suddenly  touched  me 
to  make  me  look  up.  Leaving  my  work  with- 
out the  slightest  deliberation,  I  ran  down  the 
western  slope  of  the  Dome  and  along  the  brink 
of  the  valley  wall,  looking  for  a  way  to  the 
bottom,  until  I  came  to  a  side  cafion,  which, 
judging  by  its  apparently  continuous  growth 
of  trees  and  bushes,  I  thought  might  afford  a 
practical  way  into  the  valley,  and  immedi- 
ately began  to  make  the  descent,  late  as  it  was, 
as  if  drawn  irresistibly.  But  after  a  little,  com- 
178 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

mon  sense  stopped  me  and  explained  that  it 
would  be  long  after  dark  ere  I  could  possil)ly 
reach  the  hotel,  that  the  visitors  would  be 
asleep,  that  nobody  would  know  me,  that  I 
had  no  money  in  my  pockets,  and  moreover 
was  without  a  coat.  I  therefore  compelled 
myself  to  stop,  and  finally  succeeded  in  rea- 
soning myself  out  of  the  notion  of  seeking  my 
friend  in  the  dark,  whose  presence  I  only  felt 
in  a  strange,  telepathic  way.  I  succeeded  in 
dragging  myself  back  through  the  woods  to 
camp,  never  for  a  moment  wavering,  however, 
in  my  determination  to  go  down  to  him  next 
morning.  This  I  think  is  the  most  unexplain- 
able  notion  that  ever  struck  me.  Had  some 
one  whispered  in  my  ear  while  I  sat  on  the 
Dome,  where  I  had  spent  so  many  days,  that 
Professor  Butler  was  in  the  valley,  I  could 
not  have  been  more  surprised  and  startled. 
When  I  was  leaving  the  university,  he  said, 
"Now,  John,  I  want  to  hold  you  in  sight  and 
watch  your  career.  Promise  to  write  me  at 
least  once  a  year."  I  received  a  letter  from 
him  in  July,  at  our  first  camp  in  the  Hollow, 
written  in  May,  in  which  he  said  that  he  might 
possibly  visit  California  some  time  this  sum- 
mer, and  therefore  hoped  to  meet  me.  But 
inasmuch  as  he  named  no  meeting-place,  and 
gave  no  directions  as  to  the  course  he  would 
179 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

probably  follow,  and  as  I  should  be  in  the 
wilderness  all  summer,  I  had  not  the  slightest 
hope  of  seeing  him,  and  all  thought  of  the 
matter  had  vanished  from  my  mind  until  this 
afternoon,  when  he  seemed  to  be  wafted  bodily 
almost  against  my  face.  Well,  to-morrow  I 
shall  see;  for,  reasonable  or  unreasonable,  I 
feel  I  must  go. 

August  3.  Had  a  wonderful  day.  Found 
Professor  Butler  as  the  compass-needle  finds 
the  pole.  So  last  evening's  telepathy,  tran- 
scendental revelation,  or  whatever  else  it  may 
be  called,  was  true ;  for,  strange  to  say,  he  had 
just  entered  the  valley  by  way  of  the  Coul- 
terville  Trail  and  was  coming  up  the  valley 
past  El  Capitan  when  his  presence  struck  me. 
Had  he  then  looked  toward  the  North  Dome 
with  a  good  glass  when  it  first  came  in  sight, 
he  might  have  seen  me  jump  up  from  my  work 
and  run  toward  him.  This  seems  the  one  well- 
defined  marvel  of  my  life  of  the  kind  called 
supernatural;  for,  absorbed  in  glad  Nature, 
spirit-rappings,  second  sight,  ghost  stories, 
etc.,  have  never  interested  me  since  boyhood, 
seeming  comparatively  useless  and  infinitely 
less  wonderful  than  Nature's  open,  harmoni- 
ous, songful,  sunny,  everyday  beauty. 

This  morning,  when  I  thought  of  having 
to  appear  among  tourists  at  a  hotel,  I  was 

180 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

troubled  because  I  had  no  suitable  clothes,  and 
at  best  am  desperately  bashful  and  shy.  I  was 
determined  to  go,  however,  to  see  my  old 
friend  after  two  years  among  strangers;  got 
on  a  clean  pair  of  overalls,  a  cashmere  shirt, 
and  a  sort  of  jacket,  —  the  best  my  camp 
wardrobe  aiTorded,  —  tied  my  notebook  on 
my  belt,  and  strode  away  on  my  strange  jour- 
ney, followed  by  Carlo.  I  made  my  way 
though  the  gap  discovered  last  evening,  which 
proved  to  be  Indian  Cafion.  There  was  no 
trail  in  it,  and  the  rocks  and  brush  were  so 
rough  that  Carlo  frequently  called  me  back  to 
help  him  down  precipitous  places.  Emerging 
from  the  canon  shadows,  I  found  a  man  mak- 
ing hay  on  one  of  the  meadows,  and  asked  him 
whether  Professor  Butler  was  in  the  valley. 
'*I  don't  know,"  he  replied;  "but  you  can 
easily  find  out  at  the  hotel.  There  are  but  few 
visitors  in  the  valley  just  now.  A  small  party 
came  in  yesterday  afternoon,  and  I  heard  some 
one  called  Professor  Butler,  or  Butterfield,  or 
some  name  like  that." 

In  front  of  the  gloomy  hotel  I  found  a  tour- 
ist party  adjusting  their  fishing  tackle.  They 
all  stared  at  me  in  silent  wonderment,  as  if  I 
had  been  seen  dropping  down  through  the 
trees  from  the  clouds,  mostly,  I  suppose,  on 
account  of  my  strange  garb.  Inquiring  for 
181 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  office,  I  was  told  it  was  locked,  and  that 
the  landlord  was  away,  but  I  might  find  the 
landlady,  Mrs.  Hutchings,  in  the  parlor.  I 
entered  in  a  sad  state  of  embarrassment,  and 
after  I  had  waited  in  the  big,  empty  room  and 
knocked  at  several  doors  the  landlady  at 
length  appeared,  and  in  reply  to  my  question 
said  she  rather  thought  Professor  Butler  was 
in  the  valley,  but  to  make  sure,  she  would 
bring  the  register  from  the  office.  Among  the 
names  of  the  last  arrivals  I  soon  discovered  the 
Professor's  familiar  handwriting,  at  the  sight 
of  which  bashfulness  vanished;  and  having 
learned  that  his  party  had  gone  up  the  valley, 

—  probably  to  the  Vernal  and  Nevada  Falls, 

—  I  pushed  on  in  glad  pursuit,  my  heart  now 
sure  of  its  prey.  In  less  than  an  hour  I  reached 
the  head  of  the  Nevada  Cafion  at  the  Vernal 
Fall,  and  just  outside  of  the  spray  discovered 
a  distinguished-looking  gentleman,  who,  like 
everybody  else  I  have  seen  to-day,  regarded 
me  curiously  as  I  approached.  When  I  made 
bold  to  inquire  if  he  knew  where  Professor 
Butler  was,  he  seemed  yet  more  curious  to 
know  what  could  possibly  have  happened  that 
required  a  messenger  for  the  Professor,  and 
instead  of  answering  my  question  he  asked 
with  military  sharpness,  "Who  wants  him?" 
"I  want  him,"  I  repHed  with  equal  sharp- 

182 


The  Vernal  Falls,  Ynsemile  National  Park 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

ncss.  "Why?  Do  you  know  him?"  "Yes," 
I  said.  "  Do  2/oit  know  him?  "  Astonished  that 
any  one  in  the  mountains  could  possibly  know 
Professor  Butler  and  find  him  as  soon  as  he 
had  reached  the  valley,  he  came  down  to  meet 
the  strange  mountaineer  on  equal  terms,  and 
courteously  replied,  "Yes,  I  know  Professor 
Butler  very  well.  I  am  General  Alvord,  and 
we  were  fellow  students  in  Rutland,  Vermont, 
long  ago,  when  we  were  both  young."  "But 
where  is  he  now?"  I  persisted,  cutting  short 
his  story.  "He  has  gone  beyond  the  falls  with 
a  companion,  to  try  to  climb  that  big  rock,  the 
top  of  which  you  see  from  here."  His  guide 
now  volunteered  the  information  that  it  was 
the  Liberty  Cap  Professor  Butler  and  his  com- 
panion had  gone  to  climb,  and  that  if  I  waited 
at  the  head  of  the  fall  I  should  be  sure  to  find 
them  on  their  way  down.  I  therefore  climbed 
the  ladders  alongside  the  Vernal  Fall,  and  was 
pushing  forward,  determined  to  go  to  the  top 
of  Liberty  Cap  rock  in  my  hurry,  rather  than 
wait,  if  I  should  not  meet  my  friend  sooner. 
So  heart-hungry  at  times  may  one  be  to  see  a 
friend  in  the  flesh,  however  happily  full  and 
care-free  one's  life  may  be.  I  had  gone  but 
a  short  distance,  however,  above  the  brow  of 
the  Vernal  Fall  when  I  caught  sight  of  him  in 
the  brush  and  rocks,  half  erect,  groping  his 
183 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

way,  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  vest  open,  hat  in 
his  hand,  evidently  very  hot  and  tired.  When 
he  saw  me  coming  he  sat  down  on  a  boulder 
to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  and 
neck,  and  taking  me  for  one  of  the  valley 
guides,  he  inquired  the  way  to  the  fall  ladders. 
I  pointed  out  the  path  marked  with  little  piles 
of  stones,  on  seeing  which  he  called  his  com- 
panion, saying  that  the  way  was  found;  but 
he  did  not  yet  recognize  me.  Then  I  stood 
directly  in  front  of  him,  looked  him  in  the  face, 
and  held  out  my  hand.  He  thought  I  was  offer- 
ing to  assist  him  in  rising.  ''Never  mind,"  he 
said.  Then  I  said,  "Professor  Butler,  don't 
you  know  me?"  "I  think  not,"  he  replied; 
but  catching  my  eye,  sudden  recognition  fol- 
lowed, and  astonishment  that  I  should  have 
found  him  just  when  he  was  lost  in  the  brush 
and  did  not  know  that  I  was  within  hundreds 
of  miles  of  him.  ''John  Muir,  John  Muir, 
where  have  you  come  from?"  Then  I  told 
him  the  story  of  my  feeling  his  presence  when 
he  entered  the  valley  last  evening,  when  he 
was  four  or  five  miles  distant,  as  I  sat  sketch- 
ing on  the  North  Dome.  This,  of  course,  only 
made  him  wonder  the  more.  Below  the  foot 
of  the  Vernal  Fall  the  guide  was  waiting  \^ith 
his  saddle-horse,  and  I  walked  along  the  trail, 
chatting  all  the  way  back  to  the  hotel,  talking 

184 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

of  school  days,  friends  in  Madison,  of  the  stu- 
dents, how  each  had  prospered,  etc.,  ever  and 
anon  gazing  at  the  stupendous  rocks  about 
us,  now  growing  indistinct  in  the  gloaming, 
and  again  quoting  from  the  poets  —  a  rare 
ramble. 

It  was  late  ere  we  reached  the  hotel,  and 
General  Alvord  was  waiting  the  Professor's 
arrival  for  dinner.  When  I  was  introduced 
he  seemed  yet  more  astonished  than  the  Pro- 
fessor at  my  descent  from  cloudland  and  going 
straight  to  my  friend  without  knowing  in  any 
ordinary  way  that  he  was  even  in  California. 
They  had  come  on  direct  from  the  East,  had 
not  yet  visited  any  of  their  friends  in  the  state, 
and  considered  themselves  undiscoverable.  As 
we  sat  at  dinner,  the  General  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  and  looking  down  the  table,  thus 
introduced  me  to  the  dozen  guests  or  so,  in- 
cluding the  staring  fisherman  mentioned  above: 
"This  man,  you  know,  came  down  out  of  these 
huge,  trackless  mountains,  you  know,  to  find 
his  friend  Professor  Butler  here,  the  very  day 
he  arrived;  and  how  did  he  know  he  was  here? 
He  just  felt  him,  he  says.  This  is  the  queerest 
case  of  Scotch  farsightedness  I  ever  heard  of," 
etc.,  etc.  Wliile  my  friend  quoted  Shake- 
speare: "More  things  in  heaven  and  earth, 
Horatio,  than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philos- 
185 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ophy,"  "As  the  sun,  ere  he  has  risen,  some- 
times paints  his  image  in  the  firmament,  e'en 
so  the  shadows  of  events  precede  the  events, 
and  in  to-day  already  walks  to-morrow.'* 

Had  a  long  conversation,  after  dinner,  over 
Madison  days.  The  Professor  wants  me  to 
promise  to  go  with  him,  sometime,  on  a  camp- 
ing trip  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  while  I  tried 
to  get  him  to  go  back  with  me  to  camp  in  the 
high  Sierra.  But  he  says,  "Not  now."  He 
must  not  leave  the  General;  and  I  was  sur- 
prised to  learn  they  are  to  leave  the  valley  to- 
morrow or  next  day.  I'm  glad  I'm  not  great 
enough  to  be  missed  in  the  busy  world. 

August  4.  It  seemed  strange  to  sleep  in  a 
paltry  hotel  chamber  after  the  spacious  mag- 
nificence and  luxury  of  the  starry  sky  and  sil- 
ver fir  grove.  Bade  farewell  to  my  friend  and 
the  General.  The  old  soldier  was  very  kind, 
and  an  interesting  talker.  He  told  me  long 
stories  of  the  Florida  Seminole  war,  in  which 
he  took  part,  and  invited  me  to  "visit  him  in 
Omaha.  CalHng  Carlo,  I  scrambled  home 
through  the  Indian  Canon  gate,  rejoicing, 
pitying  the  poor  Professor  and  General,  bound 
by  clocks,  almanacs,  orders,  duties,  etc.,  and 
compelled  to  dwell  with  lowland  care  and  dust 
and  din,  where  Nature  is  covered  and  her  voice 
smothered,  while  the  poor,  insignificant  wan- 

18G 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

dorcr  enjoys  the  freedom  and  glory  of  God's 
wilderness. 

Apart  from  the  human  interest  of  my  visit 
to-day,  I  greatly  enjoyed  Yosemite,  which  I 
had  visited  only  once  before,  having  spent 
eight  daj's  last  spring  in  rambling  amid  its 
rocks  and  waters.  WTierever  we  go  in  the 
mountains,  or  indeed  in  any  of  God's  wild 
fields,  we  find  more  than  we  seek.  Descend- 
ing four  thousand  feet  in  a  few  hours,  we  enter 
a  new  world  —  chmate,  plants,  sounds,  in- 
habitants, and  scenery  all  new  or  changed. 
Near  camp  the  goldcup  oak  forms  sheets  of 
chaparral,  on  top  of  which  we  may  make  our 
beds.  Going  down  the  Indian  Canon  we  ob- 
serve this  little  bush  changing  by  regular 
gradations  to  a  large  bush,  to  a  small  tree,  and 
then  larger,  until  on  the  rocky  taluses  near 
the  bottom  of  the  valley  we  find  it  developed 
into  a  broad,  wide-spreading,  gnarled,  pic- 
turesque tree  from  four  to  eight  feet  in  diam- 
eter, and  forty  or  fifty  feet  high.  Innumer- 
able are  the  forms  of  water  displayed.  Every 
gliding  reach,  cascade,  and  fall  has  characters 
of  its  own.  Had  a  good  view  of  the  Vernal 
and  Nevada,  two  of  the  main  falls  of  the  valley, 
less  than  a  mile  apart,  and  offering  striking 
differences  in  voice,  form,  color,  etc.  The  Ver- 
nal, four  hundred  feet  high  and  about  seventy- 

187 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

fiv^e  or  eighty  feet  wide,  drops  smoothly  over 
a  round-Hpped  precipice  and  forms  a  superb 
apron  of  embroidery,  green  and  white,  shghtly 
folded  and  fluted,  maintaining  this  form 
nearly  to  the  bottom,  where  it  is  suddenly 
veiled  in  quick-flying  billows  of  spray  and  mist, 
in  which  the  afternoon  sunbeams  play  with 
ravishing  beauty  of  rainbow  colors.  The  Ne- 
vada is  white  from  its  first  appearance  as  it 
leaps  out  into  the  freedom  of  the  air.  At  the 
head  it  presents  a  twisted  appearance,  by  an 
overfolding  of  the  current  from  striking  on  the 
side  of  its  channel  just  before  the  first  free  out- 
bounding  leap  is  made.  About  two  thirds  of 
the  way  down,  the  hurrying  throng  of  comet- 
shaped  masses  glance  on  an  inchned  part  of 
the  face  of  the  precipice  and  are  beaten  into 
yet  whiter  foam,  greatly  expanded,  and  sent 
bounding  outward,  making  an  indescribably 
glorious  show,  especially  when  the  afternoon 
sunshine  is  pouring  into  it.  In  this  fall  —  one 
of  the  most  wonderful  in  the  world  —  the 
water  does  not  seem  to  be  under  the  dominion 
of  ordinary  laws,  but  rather  as  if  it  were  a 
living  creature,  full  of  the  strength  of  the 
mountains  and  their  huge,  wild  joy. 

From  beneath  heavy  throbbing  blasts  of 
spray  the  broken  river  is  seen  emerging  in 
ragged  boulder-chafed  strips.  These  are  speed- 

188 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

ily  gathered  into  a  roaring  torrent,  showing 
that  the  young  river  is  still  gloriously  alive. 
On  it  goes,  shouting,  roaring,  exulting  in  its 
strength,  passes  through  a  gorge  with  sublime 
display  of  energy,  then  suddenly  expands  on  a 
gently  incUned  pavement,  down  which  it 
rushes  in  thin  sheets  and  folds  of  lace-work 
into  a  quiet  pool,  —  "Emerald  Pool,"  as  it  is 
called,  —  a  stopping-place,  a  period  separat- 
ing two  grand  sentences.  Resting  here  long 
enough  to  part  with  its  foam-bells  and  gray 
mixtures  of  air,  it  ghdes  quietly  to  the  verge 
of  the  Vernal  precipice  in  a  broad  sheet  and 
makes  its  new  display  in  the  Vernal  Fall;  then 
more  rapids  and  rock  tossings  down  the  cafion, 
shaded  by  live  oak,  Douglas  spruce,  fir,  maple, 
and  dogwood.  It  receives  the  Illilouette  tribu- 
tary, and  makes  a  long  sweep  out  into  the 
level,  sun-filled  valley  to  join  the  other  streams 
which,  like  itself,  have  danced  and  sung  their 
way  down  from  snowy  heights  to  form  the 
main  Merced  —  the  river  of  Mercy.  But  of 
this  there  is  no  end,  and  hfe,  when  one  thinks 
of  it,  is  so  short.  Never  mind,  one  day  in  the 
midst  of  these  divine  glories  is  well  worth 
living  and  toiling  and  starving  for. 

Before   parting   with   Professor   Butler   he 
gave  me  a  book,  and  I  gave  him  one  of  my 
pencil  sketches  for  his  httle  son  Henry,  who 
189 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

is  a  favorite  of  mine.  He  used  to  make  many 
visits  to  my  room  when  I  was  a  student.  Never 
shall  I  forget  his  patriotic  speeches  for  the 
Union,  mounted  on  a  tall  stool,  when  he  was 
only  six  years  old. 

It  seems  strange  that  visitors  to  Yosemite 
should  be  so  little  influenced  by  its  novel  gran- 
deur, as  if  their  eyes  were  bandaged  and  their 
ears  stopped.    Most  of  those  I  saw  yesterday 
were  looking  down  as  if  wholly  unconscious  of 
anything  going  on  about  them,  while  the  sub- 
lime rocks  were  trembling  with  the  tones  of  the 
mighty  chanting  congregation  of  waters  gath- 
ered from  all  the  mountains  round  about,  mak- 
ing music  that  might  draw  angels  out  of  heaven. 
Yet  respectable-looking,  even  wise-looking  peo- 
ple were  fixing  bits  of  worms  on  bent  pieces 
of  wire  to  catch  trout.    Sport  they  called  it. 
Should  church-goers  try  to  pass  the  time  fish- 
ing in  baptismal  fonts  while  dull  sermons  were 
being  preached,  the  so-called  sport  might  not 
be  so  bad ;  but  to  play  in  the  Yosemite  temple, 
seeking  pleasure  in  the  pain  of  fishes  struggling 
for  their  lives,  while  God  himself  is  preaching 
his  sublimest  water  and  stone  sermons! 

Now  I  'm  back  at  the  camp-fire,  and  cannot 
help  thinking  about  my  recognition  of  my 
friend's  presence  in  the  valley  while  he  was  four 
or  five  miles  away,  and  while  I  had  no  means  of 

190 


The  Happy  Isles,  Yosemile  National  Park 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

knowing  that  he  was  not  thousands  of  miles 
away.  It  seems  supernatural,  but  only  because 
it  is  not  understood.  Anyhow,  it  seems  silly  to 
make  so  much  of  it,  while  the  natural  and  com- 
mon is  more  truly  marvelous  and  mysterious 
than  the  so-called  supernatural.  Indeed  most 
of  the  miracles  we  hear  of  are  infinitely  less  won- 
derful than  the  commonest  of  natural  phenom- 
ena, when  fairly  seen.  Perhaps  the  invisible 
rays  that  struck  me  while  I  sat  at  work  on  the 
Dome  are  something  like  those  which  attract 
and  repel  people  at  first  sight,  concerning 
which  so  much  nonsense  has  been  written.  The 
worst  apparent  effect  of  these  mysterious  odd 
things  is  blindness  to  all  that  is  divinely  com- 
mon. Hawthorne,  I  fancy,  could  weave  one  of 
his  weird  romances  out  of  this  little  telepathic 
episode,  the  one  strange  marvel  of  my  life,  prob- 
ably replacing  my  good  old  Professor  by  an  at- 
tractive woman. 

Aiigust  5.  We  were  awakened  this  morning 
before  daybreak  by  the  furious  barking  of 
Carlo  and  Jack  and  the  sound  of  stampeding 
sheep.  Billy  fled  from  his  punk  bed  to  the  fire, 
and  refused  to  stir  into  the  darkness  to  try  to 
gather  the  scattered  flock,  or  ascertain  the  na- 
ture of  the  disturbance.  It  was  a  bear  attack, 
as  we  afterward  learned,  and  I  suppose  little 
was  gained  by  attempting  to  do  anything  be- 

191 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

fore  daylight.  Nevertheless,  being  anxious  to 
know  what  was  up,  Carlo  and  I  groped  our  way 
through  the  woods,  guided  by  the  rustling  sound 
made  by  fragments  of  the  flock,  not  fearing  the 
bear,  for  I  knew  that  the  runaways  would  go 
from  their  enemy  as  far  as  possible  and  Carlo's 
nose  was  also  to  be  depended  upon.  About 
half  a  mile  east  of  the  corral  we  overtook  twenty 
or  thirty  of  the  flock  and  succeeded  in  driving 
them  back;  then  turning  to  the  westward,  we 
traced  another  band  of  fugitives  and  got  them 
back  to  the  flock.  After  daybreak  I  discovered 
the  remains  of  a  sheep  carcass,  still  warm,  show- 
ing that  Bruin  must  have  been  enjoying  his 
early  mutton  breakfast  while  I  was  seeking  the 
runaways.  He  had  eaten  about  half  of  it.  Six 
dead  sheep  lay  in  the  corral,  evidently  smoth- 
ered by  the  crowding  and  piling  up  of  the  flock 
against  the  side  of  the  corral  wall  when  the  bear 
entered.  Making  a  wide  circuit  of  the  camp, 
Carlo  and  I  discovered  a  third  band  of  fugi- 
tives and  drove  them  back  to  camp.  We  also 
discovered  another  dead  sheep  half  eaten, 
showing  there  had  been  two  of  the  shaggy  free- 
booters at  this  early  breakfast.  They  were 
easily  traced.  They  had  each  caught  a  sheep, 
jumped  over  the  corral  fence  with  them,  carry- 
ing them  as  a  cat  carries  a  mouse,  laid  them 
at  the  foot  of  fir  trees  a  hundred  yards  or  so 
192 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE 

back  from  the  corral,  and  eaten  their  fill.  After 
breakfast  I  set  out  to  seek  more  of  the  lost,  and 
found  seventy-five  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  camp.  In  the  afternoon  I  succeeded,  with 
Carlo's  help,  in  getting  them  back  to  the  flock. 
I  don't  know  whether  all  are  together  again  or 
not.  I  shall  make  a  big  fire  this  evening  and 
keep  watch. 

When  I  asked  Billy  why  he  made  his  bed 
against  the  corral  in  rotten  wood,  when  so  many 
better  places  offered,  he  replied  that  he  "wished 
to  be  as  near  the  sheep  as  possible  in  case  bears 
should  attack  them."  Now  that  the  bears  have 
come,  he  has  moved  his  bed  to  the  far  side  of 
the  camp,  and  seems  afraid  that  he  may  be 
mistaken  for  a  sheep. 

This  has  been  mostly  a  sheep  day,  and  of 
course  studies  have  been  interrupted.  Never- 
theless, the  walk  through  the  gloom  of  the 
woods  before  the  dawn  was  worth  while,  and  I 
have  learned  something  about  these  noble  bears. 
Their  tracks  are  very  telling,  and  so  are  their 
breakfasts.  Scarce  a  trace  of  clouds  to-day, 
and  of  course  our  ordinary  midday  thunder  is 
wanting. 

Atigust  6.    Enjoyed  the  grand  illumination 

of  the  camp  grove,  last  night,  from  the  fire  we 

made  to  frighten  the  bears  —  compensation 

for  loss  of  sleep  and  sheep.   The  noble  pillars 

193 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

of  verdure,  vividly  aglow,  seemed  to  shoot  into 
the  sky  like  the  flames  that  lighted  them. 
Nevertheless,  one  of  the  bears  paid  us  another 
visit,  as  if  more  attracted  than  repelled  by  the 
fire,  climbed  into  the  corral,  killed  a  sheep  and 
made  off  with  it  without  being  seen,  while  still 
another  was  lost  by  trampling  and  suffocation 
against  the  side  of  the  corral.  Now  that  our 
mutton  has  been  tasted,  I  suppose  it  will  be 
difficult  to  put  a  stop  to  the  ravages  of  these 
freebooters. 

The  Don  arrived  to-day  from  the  lowlands 
with  provisions  and  a  letter.  On  learning  the 
losses  he  had  sustained,  he  determined  to  move 
the  flock  at  once  to  the  Upper  Tuolumne  re- 
gion, saying  that  the  bears  would  be  sure  to 
visit  the  camp  every  night  as  long  as  we  stayed, 
and  that  no  fire  or  noise  we  might  make  would 
avail  to  frighten  them.  No  clouds  save  a  few 
thin,  lustrous  touches  on  the  eastern  horizon. 
Thunder  heard  in  the  distance. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   MONO   TRAIL 

August  7.  Early  this  morning  bade  good-bye 
to  the  bears  and  blessed  silver  fir  camp,  and 
moved  slowly  eastward  along  the  Mono  Trail. 
At  sundown  camped  for  the  night  on  one  of  the 
many  small  flowery  meadows  so  greatly  en- 
joyed on  my  excursion  to  Lake  Tenaya.  The 
dusty,  noisy  flock  seems  outrageously  foreign 
and  out  of  place  in  these  nature  gardens,  more 
so  than  bears  among  sheep.  The  harm  they  do 
goes  to  the  heart,  but  glorious  hope  lifts  above 
all  the  dust  and  din  and  bids  me  look  forward 
to  a  good  time  coming,  when  money  enough 
will  be  earned  to  enable  me  to  go  walking  where 
I  like  in  pure  wildness,  with  what  I  can  carry 
on  my  back,  and  when  the  bread-sack  is  empty, 
run  down  to  the  nearest  point  on  the  bread- 
line for  more.  Nor  will  these  run-downs  be 
blanks,  for,  whether  up  or  down,  every  step 
and  jump  on  these  blessed  mountains  is  full  of 
fine  lessons. 

August  8.  Camp  at  the  west  end  of  Lake 
Tenaya.  Arriving  early,  I  took  a  walk  on  the 
glacier-polished   pavements   along   the   north 

195 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

shore,  and  climbed  the  magnificent  mountain 
rock  at  the  east  end  of  the  lake,  now  shining  in 
the  late  afternoon  light.  Almost  every  yard  of 
its  surface  shows  the  scoring  and  polishing  ac- 
tion of  a  great  glacier  that  enveloped  it  and 
swept  heavily  over  its  summit,  though  it  is 
about  two  thousand  feet  high  above  the  lake 
and  ten  thousand  above  sea-level.  This  ma- 
jestic, ancient  ice-flood  came  from  the  east- 
ward, as  the  scoring  and  crushing  of  the  sur- 
face shows.  Even  below  the  waters  of  the  lake 
the  rock  in  some  places  is  still  grooved  and 
polished;  the  lapping  of  the  waves  and  their 
disintegrating  action  have  not  as  yet  obliter- 
ated even  the  superficial  marks  of  glaciation. 
In  climbing  the  steepest  polished  places  I  had 
to  take  ofT  shoes  and  stockings.  A  fine  region 
this  for  study  of  glacial  action  in  mountain- 
making.  I  found  many  charming  plants:  arctic 
daisies,  phlox,  white  spuaea,  bryanthus,  and 
rock-ferns,  —  pellsea,  cheilanthes,  allosorus,  — 
fringing  weathered  seams  all  the  way  up  to  the 
summit;  and  sturdy  junipers,  grand  old  gray 
and  brown  monuments,  stood  bravely  erect  on 
fissured  spots  here  and  there,  telling  storm  and 
avalanche  stories  of  hundreds  of  winters.  The 
view  of  the  lake  from  the  top  is,  I  think,  the 
best  of  all.  There  is  another  rock,  more  strik- 
ing in  form  than  this,  standing  isolated  at  the 
196 


^■l 


')W-^'-'^ 


?i.""~;jl.V^ 


mw 


\  now   OF  TEXAYA  LAKE   SHOWING   CATHEDRAL  PEAK 


ONE  OK  THE   THIHUTARY    KOINTAINS   OF   THE   TIIOLIMNE 

CANON    WATERS.   ON   THE  NORTH    SIDE  OF  THE 

HOFF.MAX    RANCE 


THE  MONO  TRAIL 

head  of  the  lake,  but  it  is  not  more  than  half  as 
high.  It  is  a  knob  or  knot  of  burnished  granite, 
perhaps  about  a  thousand  feet  high,  apparently 
as  flawless  and  strong  in  structure  as  a  wave- 
worn  pebble,  and  probably  owes  its  existence 
to  the  superior  resistance  it  offered  to  the  ac- 
tion of  the  overflowing  ice-flood. 

Made  sketch  of  the  lake,  and  sauntered 
back  to  camp,  my  iron-shod  shoes  clanking  on 
the  pavements  disturbing  the  chipmunks  and 
birds.  After  dark  went  out  to  the  shore,  —  not 
a  breath  of  air  astir,  the  lake  a  perfect  mirror 
reflecting  the  sky  and  mountains  with  their 
stars  and  trees  and  wonderful  sculpture,  all 
their  grandeur  refined  and  doubled,  —  a  mar- 
velously  impressive  picture,  that  seemed  to 
belong  more  to  heaven  than  earth. 

August  9.  I  went  ahead  of  the  flock,  and 
crossed  over  the  divide  between  the  Merced 
and  Tuolumne  Basins.  The  gap  between  the 
east  end  of  the  Hoffman  spur  and  the  mass  of 
mountain  rocks  about  Cathedral  Peak,  though 
roughened  by  ridges  and  waving  folds,  seems 
to  be  one  of  the  channels  of  a  broad  ancient 
glacier  that  came  from  the  mountains  on  the 
summit  of  the  range.  In  crossing  this  divide 
the  ice-river  made  an  ascent  of  about  five  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  Tuolumne  meadows.  This 
entire  region  must  have  been  overswept  by  ice. 
197 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

From  the  top  of  the  divide,  and  also  from  the 
big  Tuolumne  Meadows,  the  wonderful  moun- 
tain called  Cathedral  Peak  is  in  sight.  From 
every  point  of  view  it  shows  marked  individu- 
ality. It  is  a  majestic  temple  of  one  stone, 
hewn  from  the  living  rock,  and  adorned  with 
spires  and  pinnacles  in  regular  cathedral  style. 
The  dwarf  pines  on  the  roof  look  like  mosses. 
I  hope  some  time  to  climb  to  it  to  say  my  pray- 
ers and  hear  the  stone  sermons. 

The  big  Tuolumne  Meadows  are  flowery 
lawns,  lying  along  the  south  fork  of  the  Tuol- 
umne River  at  a  height  of  about  eighty-five 
hundred  to  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea, 
partially  separated  by  forests  and  bars  of  gla- 
ciated granite.  Here  the  mountains  seem  to 
have  been  cleared  away  or  set  back,  so  that 
wide-open  views  may  be  had  in  every  direction. 
The  upper  end  of  the  series  lies  at  the  base  of 
Mount  Lyell,  the  lower  below  the  east  end  of 
the  Hoffman  Range,  so  the  length  must  be 
about  ten  or  twelve  miles.  They  vary  in  width 
from  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  perhaps  three  quar- 
ters, and  a  good  many  branch  meadows  put  out 
along  the  banks  of  the  tributary  streams.  This 
is  the  most  spacious  and  delightful  high  pleas- 
ure-ground I  have  yet  seen.  The  air  is  keen  and 
bracing,  yet  warm  during  the  day ;  and  though 
lying  high  in  the  sky,  the  surrounding  moun- 
198 


THE  MONO  TRAIL 

tains  are  so  much  higher,  one  feels  protected 
as  if  in  a  grand  hall.  Mounts  Dana  and  Gibbs, 
massive  red  mountains,  perhaps  thirteen  thou- 
sand feet  high  or  more,  bound  the  view  on  the 
east,  the  Cathedral  and  Unicorn  Peaks,  with 
many  nameless  peaks,  on  the  south,  the  Hoff- 
man Range  on  the  west,  and  a  number  of  peaks 
unnamed,  as  far  as  I  know,  on  the  north.  One 
of  these  last  is  much  like  the  Cathedral.  The 
grass  of  the  meadows  is  mostly  fine  and  silky, 
with  exceedingly  slender  leaves,  making  a  close 
sod,  above  which  the  panicles  of  minute  purple 
flowers  seem  to  float  in  airy,  misty  lightness, 
while  the  sod  is  enriched  with  at  least  three  spe- 
cies of  gentian  and  as  many  or  more  of  ortho- 
carpus,  potentilla,  ivesia,  solidago,  pentstemon, 
with  their  gay  colors,  ■ —  purple,  blue,  yellow, 
and  red,  —  all  of  which  I  may  know  better  ere 
long.  A  central  camp  will  probably  be  made  in 
this  region,  from  which  I  hope  to  make  long 
excursions  into  the  surrounding  mountains. 

On  the  return  trip  I  met  the  flock  about 
three  miles  east  of  Lake  Tenaya.  Here  we 
camped  for  the  night  near  a  small  lake  lying  on 
top  of  the  divide  in  a  clump  of  the  two- leaved 
pine.  We  are  now  about  nine  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea.  Small  lakes  abound  in  all  sorts 
of  situations,  —  on  ridges,  along  mountain 
sides,  and  in  piles  of  moraine  boulders,  most  of 

199 


IMY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

them  mere  pools.  Only  in  those  canons  of  the 
larger  streams  at  the  foot  of  dechvities,  where 
the  down  thrust  of  the  glaciers  was  heaviest, 
do  we  find  lakes  of  considerable  size  and  depth. 
How  grateful  a  task  it  would  be  to  trace  them 
all  and  study  them!  How  pure  their  waters  are, 
clear  as  crystal  in  polished  stone  basins !  None 
of  them,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  have  fishes,  I  sup- 
pose on  account  of  falls  making  them  inaccessi- 
ble. Yet  one  would  think  their  eggs  might  get 
into  these  lakes  by  some  chance  or  other;  on 
ducks'  feet,  for  example,  or  in  their  mouths,  or 
in  their  crops,  as  some  plant  seeds  are  dis- 
tributed. Nature  has  so  many  ways  of  doing 
such  things.  How  did  the  frogs,  found  in  all  the 
bogs  and  pools  and  lakes,  however  high,  man- 
age to  get  up  these  mountains?  Surely  not 
by  jumping.  Such  excursions  through  miles  of 
dry  brush  and  boulders  would  be  very  hard  on 
frogs.  Perhaps  their  stringy  gelatinous  spawn 
is  occasionally  entangled  or  glued  on  the  feet 
of  water  birds.  Anyhow,  they  are  here  and  in 
hearty  health  and  voice.  I  like  their  cheery 
tronk  and  crink.  They  take  the  place  of  song- 
birds at  a  pinch. 

August  10.  Another  of  those  charming  ex- 
hilarating days  that  make  the  blood  dance 
and  excite  nerve  currents  that  render  one  un- 
weariable  and  well-nigh  immortal.    Had  an- 

200 


THE  MONO  TRAIL 

other  view  of  the  broad  icc-ploughe J  divide,  and 
gazed  again  and  again  at  the  Sierra  temple  and 
the  great  red  mountains  east  of  the  meadows. 
We  are  camped  near  the  Soda  Springs  on 
the  north  side  of  the  river.  A  hard  time  we 
had  getting  the  sheep  across.  They  were 
driven  into  a  horseshoe  bend  and  fairly  crowded 
off  the  bank.  They  seemed  wilHng  to  suffer 
death  rather  than  risk  getting  wet,  though 
they  swim  well  enough  when  they  have  to. 
Why  sheep  should  be  so  unreasonably  afraid 
of  water,  I  don't  know,  but  they  do  fear  it  as 
soon  as  they  are  born  and  perhaps  before.  I 
once  saw  a  lamb  only  a  few  hours  old  approach 
a  shallow  stream  about  two  feet  wide  and  an 
inch  deep,  after  it  had  walked  only  about  a 
hundred  yards  on  its  life  journey.  All  the 
flock  to  which  it  belonged  had  crossed  this 
inch-deep  stream,  and  as  the  mother  and  her 
lamb  were  the  last  to  cress,  I  had  a  good  op- 
portunity to  observe  them.  As  soon  as  the 
flock  was  out  of  the  way,  the  anxious  mother 
crossed  over  and  called  the  youngster.  It 
walked  cautiously  to  the  brink,  gazed  at  the 
water,  bleated  piteously,  and  refused  to  ven- 
ture. The  patient  mother  went  back  to  it 
again  and  again  to  encourage  it,  but  long  with- 
out avail.  Like  the  pilgrim  on  Jordan's  stormy 
bank  it  feared  to  launch  away.  At  length, 
201 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

gathering  its  trembling  inexperienced  legs  for 
the  mighty  effort,  throwing  up  its  head  as  if 
it  knew  all  about  drowning,  and  was  anxious 
to  keep  its  nose  above  water,  it  made  the  tre- 
mendous leap,  and  landed  in  the  middle  of 
the  inch-deep  stream.  It  seemed  astonished 
to  find  that,  instead  of  sinking  over  head  and 
ears,  only  its  toes  were  wet,  gazed  at  the  shin- 
ing water  a  few  seconds,  and  then  sprang  to  the 
shore  safe  and  dry  through  the  dreadful  ad- 
venture. All  kinds  of  wild  sheep  are  moun- 
tain animals,  and  their  descendants'  dread  of 
water  is  not  easily  accounted  for. 

August  11.  Fine  shining  weather,  with  a 
ten  minutes'  noon  thunderstorm  and  rain. 
Rambling  all  day  getting  acquainted  with  the 
region  north  of  the  river.  Found  a  small  lake 
and  many  charming  glacier  meadows  embos- 
omed in  an  extensive  forest  of  the  two-leaved 
pine.  The  forest  is  growing  on  broad,  almost 
continuous  deposits  of  moraine  material,  is 
remarkably  even  in  its  growth,  and  the  trees 
are  much  closer  together  than  in  any  of  the 
fir  or  pine  woods  farther  down  the  range.  The 
evenness  of  the  growth  would  seem  to  indi- 
cate that  the  trees  are  all  of  the  same  age  or 
nearly  so.  This  regularity  has  probably  been 
in  great  part  the  result  of  fire.  I  saw  several 
large  patches   and   strips   of   dead   bleached 

202 


THE   MONO  TRAIL 

spars,  the  ground  beneath  them  covered  with 
a  3'oung  even  growth.  Fire  can  run  in  these 
woods,  not  only  because  the  thin  bark  of  the 
trees  is  dripping  with  resin,  but  because  the 
growth  is  close,  and  the  comparatively  rich 
Boil  produces  good  crops  of  tall  broad-leaved 
grasses  on  which  fire  can  travel,  even  when 
the  weather  is  calm.  Besides  these  fire-killed 
patches  there  are  a  good  many  fallen  uprooted 
trees  here  and  there,  some  with  the  bark  and 
needles  still  on,  as  if  they  had  lately  been 
blown  down  in  some  thunderstorm  blast. 
Saw  a  large  black-tailed  deer,  a  buck  with 
antlers  like  the  upturned  roots  of  a  fallen  pine. 
After  a  long  ramble  through  the  dense  en- 
cumbered woods  I  emerged  upon  a  smooth 
meadow  full  of  sunshine  like  a  lake  of  light, 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  long,  a  quarter  to  half  a 
mile  wide,  and  bounded  by  tall  arrowy  pines. 
The  sod,  like  that  of  all  the  glacier  meadows 
hereabouts,  is  made  of  silky  agrostis  and  cal- 
amagrostis  chiefly;  their  panicles  of  purple 
flowers  and  purple  stems,  exceedingly  light 
and  airy,  seem  to  float  above  the  green  plush 
of  leaves  like  a  thin  misty  cloud,  while  the 
sod  is  brightened  by  several  species  of  gen- 
tian, potentilla,  ivesia,  orthocarpus,  and  their 
corresponding  bees  and  butterflies.  All  the 
glacier  meadows  are  beautiful,  but  few  are  so 

203 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

perfect  as  this  one.  Compared  with  it  the 
most  carefully  leveled,  licked,  snipped  arti- 
ficial lawns  of  pleasure-grounds  are  coarse 
things.  I  should  like  to  live  here  always.  It 
is  so  calm  and  withdrawn  while  open  to  the 
universe  in  full  communion  with  everything 
good.  To  the  north  of  this  glorious  meadow  I 
discovered  the  camp  of  some  Indian  hunters. 
Their  fire  was  still  burning,  but  they  had  not 
yet  returned  from  the  chase. 

From  meadow  to  meadow,  every  one  beau- 
tiful beyond  telUng,  and  from  lake  to  lake 
through  groves  and  belts  of  arrowy  trees,  I 
held  my  way  northward  toward  Mount  Con- 
ness,  finding  telling  beauty  everyw^here,  while 
the  encompassing  mountains  were  calling 
"Come."  Hope  I  may  climb  them  all. 

August  12.  The  sky-scenery  has  changed 
but  little  so  far  with  the  change  in  eleva- 
tion. Clouds  about  .05.  Glorious  pearly  cumuli 
tinted  with  purple  of  ineffable  fineness  of  tone. 
Moved  camp  to  the  side  of  the  glacier  meadow 
mentioned  above.  To  let  sheep  trample  so 
divinely  fine  a  place  seems  barbarous.  For- 
tunately they  prefer  the  succulent  broad- 
leaved  triticum  and  other  woodland  grasses 
to  the  silky  species  of  the  meadows,  and  there- 
fore seldom  bite  them  or  set  foot  on  them. 

The  shepherd  and  the  Don  cannot  agree 

204 


.:k.i\ 


<;ka<ii:i;  mkadow,  on  tiii;  iikadw ateks  ok  thk  Tr()Lr:MNK 

t)r.00   FKET   Al'.oVl,   TIIK   SKA 


THE  MONO  TRAIL 

about  methods  of  herding.  Billy  sets  his  dog 
Jack  on  the  sheep  far  too  often,  so  the  Don 
thinks;  and  after  some  dispute  to-day,  in 
which  the  shepherd  loudly  claimed  the  right 
to  dog  the  sheep  as  often  as  he  pleased,  he 
started  for  the  plains.  Now  I  suppose  the  care 
of  the  sheep  will  fall  on  me,  though  Mr.  Dc- 
laney  promises  to  do  the  herding  himself  for 
a  while,  then  return  to  the  lowlands  and  bring 
another  shepherd,  so  as  to  leave  me  free  to  rove 
as  I  like. 

Had  another  rich  ramble.  Pushed  north- 
ward beyond  the  forests  to  the  head  of  the 
general  basin,  where  traces  of  glacial  action 
are  strikingly  clear  and  interesting.  The  re- 
cesses among  the  peaks  look  like  quarries,  so 
raw  and  fresh  are  the  moraine  chips  and  bould- 
ers that  strew  the  ground  in  Nature's  glacial 
workshops. 

Soon  after  my  return  to  camp  we  received 
a  visit  from  an  Indian,  probably  one  of  the 
hunters  whose  camp  I  had  discovered.  He 
came  from  Mono,  he  said,  with  others  of  his 
tribe,  to  hunt  deer.  One  that  he  had  killed 
a  short  distance  from  here  he  was  carrying  on 
his  back,  its  legs  tied  together  in  an  ornamental 
bunch  on  his  forehead.  Throwing  down  his 
burden,  he  gazed  stolidly  for  a  few  minutes 
in  silent  Indian  fashion,  then  cut  off  eight  or 

205 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

ton  pounds  of  venison  for  us,  and  begged  a 
"lill"  (little)  of  everything  he  saw  or  could 
think  of  —  flour,  bread,  sugar,  tobacco,  whis- 
key, needles,  etc.  We  gave  a  fair  price  for  the 
meat  in  flour  and  sugar  and  added  a  few 
needles.  A  strangely  dirty  and  irregular  life 
these  dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  half-happy  sav- 
ages lead  in  this  clean  wilderness,  —  starva- 
tion and  abundance,  deathlike  calm,  indolence, 
and  admirable,  indefatigable  action  succeed- 
ing each  other  in  stormy  rhythm  like  win- 
ter and  summer.  Two  things  they  have  that 
civilized  toilers  might  well  envy  them  —  pure 
air  and  pure  water.  These  go  far  to  cover  and 
cure  the  grossness  of  their  lives.  Their  food  is 
mostly  good  berries,  pine  nuts,  clover,  lily 
bulbs,  wild  sheep,  antelope,  deer,  grouse,  sage 
hens,  and  the  larvae  of  ants,  wasps,  bees,  and 
other  insects. 

August  13.  Day  all  sunshine,  dawn  and 
evening  purple,  noon  gold,  no  clouds,  air  mo- 
tionless. Mr.  Delaney  arrived  with  two  shep- 
herds, one  of  them  an  Indian.  On  his  way  up 
from  the  plains  he  left  some  provisions  at  the 
Portuguese  camp  on  Porcupine  Creek  near 
our  old  Yosemite  camp,  and  I  set  out  this 
morning  with  one  of  the  pack  animals  to  fetch 
them.  Arrived  at  the  Porcupine  camp  at  noon, 
and  might  have  returned  to  the  Tuolumne  late 
206 


THE   MONO  TRAIL 

in  the  evening,  but  concluded  to  stay  over 
night  with  the  Portuguese  shejiherds  at  their 
pressing  invitation.  They  had  sad  stories  to 
tell  of  losses  from  the  Yosemite  bears,  and 
were  so  discouraged  they  seemed  on  the  point 
of  leaving  the  mountains;  for  the  bears  came 
every  night  and  helped  themselves  to  one  or 
several  of  the  flock  in  spite  of  all  their  efforts 
to  keep  them  off. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  in  a  grand  ramble 
along  the  Yosemite  walls.  From  the  highest 
of  the  rocks  called  the  Three  Brothers,  I  en- 
joyed a  magnificent  view  comprehending  all 
the  upper  half  of  the  floor  of  the  valley  and 
nearly  all  the  rocks  of  the  walls  on  both  sides 
and  at  the  head,  with  snowy  peaks  in  the 
background.  Saw  also  the  Vernal  and  Nevada 
Falls,  a  truly  glorious  picture,  —  rocky  strength 
and  permanence  combined  with  beauty  of 
plants  frail  and  fine  and  evanescent;  water 
descending  in  thunder,  and  the  same  water 
gliding  through  meadows  and  groves  in  gen- 
tlest beauty.  This  standpoint  is  about  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  or  four  thousand 
feet  above  the  floor  of  the  valley,  and  every 
tree,  though  looking  small  and  feathery,  stands 
in  admirable  clearness,  and  the  shadows  they 
cast  are  as  distinct  in  outline  as  if  seen  at  a 
distance  of  a  few  yards.  They  appeared  even 
207 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

more  so.  No  words  will  ever  describe  the  ex- 
quisite beauty  and  charm  of  this  mountain 
park  —  Nature's  landscape  garden  at  once 
tenderly  beautiful  and  sublime.  No  wonder 
it  draws  nature-lovers  from  all  over  the  world. 

Glacial  action  even  on  this  lofty  summit  is 
plainly  displayed.  Not  only  has  all  the  lovely 
valley  now  smiling  in  sunshine  been  filled  to 
the  brim  with  ice,  but  it  has  been  deeply  over- 
flowed. 

I  visited  our  old  Yosemite  camp-ground  on 
the  head  of  Indian  Creek,  and  found  it  fairly 
patted  and  smoothed  dov/n  with  bear-tracks. 
The  bears  had  eaten  all  the  sheep  that  were 
smothered  in  the  corral,  and  some  of  the  grand 
animals  must  have  died,  for  Mr.  Delaney, 
before  leaving  camp,  put  a  large  quantity  of 
poison  in  the  carcasses.  All  sheep-men  carry 
strychnine  to  kill  coyotes,  bears,  and  panthers, 
though  neither  coyotes  nor  panthers  are  at  all 
numerous  in  the  upper  mountains.  The  little 
dog-like  wolves  are  far  more  numerous  in  the 
foothill  region  and  on  the  plains,  where  they 
find  a  better  supply  of  food,  —  saw  only  one 
panther- track  above  eight  thousand  feet. 

On  my  return  after  sunset  to  the  Portuguese 

camp  I  found  the  shepherds  greatly  excited 

over   the   behavior   of   the   bears   that   have 

learned    to  like  mutton.  ''They  are  getting 

208 


The  Three  Brothers,  Vusemite  National  Park 


THE   MONO  TRAIL 

worse  and  worse,"  they  lamented.  Not  will- 
ing to  wait  decently  until  after  dark  for  their 
suppers,  they  come  and  kill  and  eat  their  fill 
in  broad  daylight.  The  evening  before  my 
arrival,  when  the  two  shepherds  were  leisurely 
driving  the  flock  toward  camp  half  an  hour 
before  sunset,  a  hungry  bear  came  out  of  the 
chaparral  within  a  few  yards  of  them  and 
shuflled  deliberately  toward  the  flock.  "Por- 
tuguese Joe,"  who  always  carried  a  gun  loaded 
with  buckshot,  fired  excitedly,  threw  down 
his  gun,  fled  to  the  nearest  suitable  tree,  and 
climbed  to  a  safe  height  without  waiting  to 
see  the  effect  of  his  shot.  His  companion  also 
ran,  but  said  that  he  saw  the  bear  rise  on  its 
hind  legs  and  throw  out  its  arms  as  if  feeling 
for  somebody,  and  then  go  into  the  brush  as  if 
wounded. 

At  another  of  their  camps  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, a  bear  with  two  cubs  attacked  the  flock 
before  sunset,  just  as  they  were  approaching 
the  corral.  Joe  promptly  climbed  a  tree  out 
of  danger,  while  Antone,  rebuking  his  com- 
panion for  cowardice  in  abandoning  his  charge, 
gaid  that  he  was  not  going  to  let  bears  "eat  up 
his  sheeps"  in  daylight,  and  rushed  towards 
the  bears,  shouting  and  setting  his  dog  on 
them.  The  frightened  cubs  climbed  a  tree, 
but  the  mother  ran  to  meet  the  shepherd  and 

209 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

seemed  anxious  to  fight.  Antone  stood  aston- 
ished for  a  moment,  eyeing  the  oncoming  bear, 
then  turned  and  fled,  closely  pursued.  Un- 
able to  reach  a  suitable  tree  for  climbing,  he 
ran  to  the  camp  and  scrambled  up  to  the  roof 
of  the  little  cabin;  the  bear  followed,  but  did 
not  climb  to  the  roof,  —  only  stood  glaring 
up  at  him  for  a  few  minutes,  threatening  him 
and  holding  him  in  mortal  terror,  then  went 
to  her  cubs,  called  them  down,  went  to  the 
flock,  caught  a  sheep  for  supper,  and  vanished 
in  the  brush.  As  soon  as  the  bear  left  the  cabin, 
the  trembling  Antone  begged  Joe  to  show 
him  a  good  safe  tree,  up  which  he  climbed 
like  a  sailor  climbing  a  mast,  and  remained  as 
long  as  he  could  hold  on,  the  tree  being  almost 
branchless.  After  these  disastrous  experi- 
ences the  two  shepherds  chopped  and  gath- 
ered large  piles  of  dry  wood  and  made  a  ring 
of  fire  around  the  corral  every  night,  while 
one  with  a  gun  kept  watch  from  a  comfort- 
able stage  built  on  a  neighboring  pine  that 
commanded  a  view  of  the  corral.  This  even- 
ing the  show  made  by  the  circle  of  fire  was 
very  fine,  bringing  out  the  surrounding  trees 
in  most  impressive  relief,  and  making  the 
thousands  of  sheep  eyes  glow  like  a  glorious 
bed  of  diamonds. 
August  14.    Up  to  the  time  I  went  to  bed 

210 


THE   MONO  TRAIL 

last  night  all  was  quiet,  though  wc  expected 
the  shagg>'  freebooters  every  minute.  They 
did  not  come  till  near  midnight,  when  a  pair 
walked  boldly  to  the  corral  between  two  of 
the  great  fires,  climbed  in,  killed  two  sheep 
and  smothered  ten,  while  the  frightened 
watcher  in  the  tree  did  not  fire  a  single  shot, 
saying  that  he  was  afraid  he  might  kill  some 
of  the  sheep,  for  the  bears  got  into  the  corral 
before  he  got  a  good  clear  view  of  them.  I 
told  the  shepherds  they  should  at  once  move 
the  flock  to  another  camp.  "Oh,  no  use,  no 
use,"  they  lamented;  "where  we  go,  the  bears 
go  too.  See  my  poor  dead  sheeps  —  soon  all 
dead.  No  use  try  another  camp.  We  go  down 
to  the  plains."  And  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
they  were  driven  out  of  the  mountains  a  month 
before  the  usual  time.  Were  bears  much  more 
numerous  and  destructive,  the  sheep  would 
be  kept  away  altogether. 

It  seems  strange  that  bears,  so  fond  of  all 
sorts  of  flesh,  running  the  risks  of  guns  and 
fires  and  poison,  should  never  attack  men  ex- 
cept in  defense  of  their  young.  How  easily 
and  safely  a  bear  could  pick  us  up  as  we  lie 
asleep!  Only  wolves  and  tigers  seem  to  have 
learned  to  hunt  man  for  food,  and  perhaps 
sharks  and  crocodiles.  Mosquitoes  and  other 
insects  would,   I  suppose,  devour  a  helpless 

211 


IMY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

man  in  some  parts  of  the  world,  and  so  might 
lions,  leopards,  wolves,  hyenas,  and  panthers 
at  times  if  pressed  by  hunger,  —  but  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  perhaps,  only  the 
tiger  among  land  animals  may  be  said  to  be  a 
man-eater,  —  unless  we  add  man  himself. 

Clouds  as  usual  about  .05.  Another  glori- 
ous Sierra  day,  warm,  crisp,  fragrant,  and 
clear.  Many  of  the  flowering  plants  have  gone 
to  seed,  but  many  others  are  unfolding  their 
petals  every  day,  and  the  firs  and  pines  are 
more  fragrant  than  ever.  Their  seeds  are 
nearly  ripe,  and  will  soon  be  flying  in  the 
merriest  flocks  that  ever  spread  a  wing. 

On  the  way  back  to  our  Tuolumne  camp, 
I  enjoyed  the  scenery  if  possible  more  than 
when  it  first  came  to  view.  Every  feature  al- 
ready seems  familiar  as  if  I  had  lived  here 
always.  I  never  weary  gazing  at  the  wonder- 
ful Cathedral.  It  has  more  individual  charac- 
ter than  any  other  rock  or  mountain  I  ever  saw, 
excepting  perhaps  the  Yosemite  South  Dome. 
The  forests,  too,  seem  kindly  familiar,  and 
the  lakes  and  meadows  and  glad  singing 
iitreams.  I  should  like  to  dwell  with  them  for- 
ever. Here  with  bread  and  water  I  should  be 
content.  Even  if  not  allowed  to  roam  and 
climb,  tethered  to  a  stake  or  tree  in  some 
meadow  or  grove,  even  then  I  should  be  con- 

212 


THE  MONO  TRAIL 

tent  forever.  Bathed  in  such  beautj',  watch- 
ing the  expressions  ever  varying  on  the  faces 
of  the  mountains,  watching  the  stars,  which 
here  have  a  glory  that  the  lowlander  never 
dreams  of,  watching  the  circHng  seasons,  hs- 
tening  to  the  songs  of  the  waters  and  winds 
and  birds,  would  be  endless  pleasure.  And 
what  glorious  cloudlands  I  should  see,  storms 
and  calms,  —  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth 
every  day,  aye  and  new  inhabitants.  And  how 
many  visitors  I  should  have.  I  feel  sure  I 
should  not  have  one  dull  moment.  And  why 
should  this  appear  extravagant?  It  is  only 
common  sense,  a  sign  of  health,  genuine, 
natural,  all-awake  health.  One  would  be  at 
an  endless  Godful  play,  and  what  speeches 
and  music  and  acting  and  scenery  and  lights! 
—  sun,  moon,  stars,  auroras.  Creation  just 
beginning,  the  morning  stars  "still  singing 
together  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouting  for 
joy." 


CHAPTER    IX 

BLOODY   CANON   AND   MONO    LAKE 

August  21.  Have  just  returned  from  a  fine 
wild  excursion  across  the  range  to  Mono  Lake, 
by  way  of  the  Mono  or  Bloody  Canon  Pass. 
Mr.  Delaney  has  been  good  to  me  all  summer, 
lending  a  helping,  sympathizing  hand  at  every 
opportunity,  as  if  my  wild  notions  and  ram- 
bles and  studies  were  his  own.  He  is  one  of 
those  remarkable  California  men  who  have 
been  overflowed  and  denuded  and  remodeled 
by  the  excitements  of  the  gold  fields,  like  the 
Sierra  landscapes  by  grinding  ice,  bringing  the 
harder  bosses  and  ridges  of  character  into 
relief,  —  a  tall,  lean,  big-boned,  big-hearted 
Irishman,  educated  for  a  priest  in  Maynooth 
College,  —  lots  of  good  in  him,  shining  out 
now  and  then  in  this  mountain  light.  Recog- 
nizing my  love  of  wild  places,  he  told  me  one 
evening  that  I  ought  to  go  through  Bloody 
Canon,  for  he  was  sure  I  should  find  it  wild 
enough.  He  had  not  been  there  himself,  he 
said,  but  had  heard  many  of  his  mining  friends 
speak  of  it  as  the  wildest  of  all  the  Sierra 
passes.  Of  course  I  was  glad  to  go.  It  lies  just 

214 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

to  the  east  of  our  camp  and  swoops  down  from 
the  summit  of  the  range  to  the  edge  of  the 
Mono  Desert,  making  a  descent  of  about  four 
thousand  feet  in  a  distance  of  about  four  miles. 
It  was  known  and  traveled  as  a  pass  by  wild 
animals  and  the  Indians  long  before  its  dis- 
covery by  white  men  in  the  gold  year  of  1858, 
as  is  shown  by  old  trails  which  come  together 
at  the  head  of  it.  The  name  may  have  been 
suggested  by  the  red  color  of  the  metamorphic 
slates  in  which  the  canon  abounds,  or  by  the 
blood  stains  on  the  rocks  from  the  unfortu- 
nate animals  that  were  compelled  to  slide  and 
shuffle  over  the  sharp-angled  boulders. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  tied  my  notebook 
and  some  bread  to  my  belt,  and  strode  away 
full  of  eager  hope,  feeling  that  I  was  going  to 
have  a  glorious  revel.  The  glacier  meadows 
that  lay  along  my  way  served  to  soothe  my 
morning  speed,  for  the  sod  was  full  of  blue 
gentians  and  daisies,  kalmia  and  dwarf  vacci- 
nium,  calling  for  recognition  as  old  friends, 
and  I  had  to  stop  many  times  to  examine  the 
shining  rocks  over  which  the  ancient  glacier 
had  passed  with  tremendous  pressure,  polish- 
ing them  so  well  that  they  reflected  the  sun- 
hght  like  glass  in  some  places,  while  fine  strise, 
seen  clearly  through  a  lens,  indicated  the  direc- 
tion in  which  the  ice  had  flowed.  On  some  of 
215 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

the  sloping  polished  pavements  abrupt  steps 
occur,  showing  that  occasionally  large  masses 
of  the  rock  had  given  way  before  the  glacial 
pressure,  as  well  as  small  particles;  moraines, 
too,  some  scattered,  others  regular  Uke  long 
curving  embankments  and  dams,  occur  here 
and  there,  giving  the  general  surface  of  the 
region  a  young,  new-made  appearance.  I 
watched  the  gradual  dwarfing  of  the  pines  as 
I  ascended,  and  the  corresponding  dwarfing  of 
nearly  all  the  rest  of  the  vegetation.  On  the 
slopes  of  Mammoth  Mountain,  to  the  south 
of  the  pass,  I  saw  many  gaps  in  the  woods 
reaching  from  the  upper  edge  of  the  timber- 
line  down  to  the  level  meadows,  where 
avalanches  of  snow  had  descended,  sweeping 
away  every  tree  in  their  paths  as  well  as  the 
soil  they  were  growing  in,  leaving  the  bed- 
rock bare.  The  trees  are  nearly  all  uprooted, 
but  a  few  that  had  been  extremely  well  an- 
chored in  clefts  of  the  rock  were  broken  oflf 
near  the  ground.  It  seems  strange  at  first  sight 
that  trees  that  had  been  allowed  to  grow  for  a 
century  or  more  undisturbed  should  in  their 
old  age  be  thus  swished  away  at  a  stroke. 
Such  avalanches  can  only  occur  under  rare 
conditions  of  weather  and  snowfall.  No  doubt 
on  some  positions  of  the  mountain  slopes  the 
inclination  and  smoothness  of  the  surface  is 

216 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

such  that  avalanches  must  occur  every  winter, 
or  even  after  every  heavy  snowstorm,  and  of 
course  no  trees  or  even  bushes  can  grow  in 
their  channels.  I  noticed  a  few  clean-swept 
slopes  of  this  kind.  The  uprooted  trees  that 
had  grown  in  the  pathway  of  what  might  be 
called  "century  avalanches"  were  piled  in 
windrows,  and  tucked  snugly  against  the  wall- 
trees  of  the  gaps,  heads  downward,  excepting 
a  few  that  were  carried  out  into  the  open 
ground  of  the  meadows,  where  the  heads  of 
the  avalanches  had  stopped.  Young  pines, 
mostly  the  two-leaved  and  the  white-barked, 
are  already  springing  up  in  these  cleared  gaps. 
It  would  be  interesting  to  ascertain  the  age 
of  these  saplings,  for  thus  we  should  gain  a 
fair  approximation  to  the  year  that  the  great 
avalanches  occurred.  Perhaps  most  or  all  of 
them  occurred  the  same  winter.  How  glad  I 
should  be  if  free  to  pursue  such  studies! 

Near  the  summit  at  the  head  of  the  pass  I 
found  a  species  of  dwarf  willow  lying  perfectly 
flat  on  the  ground,  making  a  nice,  soft,  silky 
gray  carpet,  not  a  single  stem  or  branch  more 
than  three  inches  high ;  but  the  catkins,  which 
are  now  nearly  ripe,  stand  erect  and  make  a 
close,  nearly  regular  gray  growth,  being  larger 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  plants.  Some  of  these 
interesting  dwarfs  have  only  one  catkin  — 
217 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

willow  bushes  reduced  to  their  lowest  terms. 
I  found  patches  of  dwarf  vacciiiium  also  form- 
ing smooth  carpets,  closely  pressed  to  the 
ground  or  against  the  sides  of  stones,  and  cov- 
ered with  round  pink  flowers  in  lavish  abun- 
dance as  if  they  had  fallen  from  the  sky  Uke 
hail.  A  Httle  higher,  almost  at  the  very  head 
of  the  pass,  I  found  the  blue  arctic  daisy  and 
purple-flowered  bryanthus,  the  mountain's 
own  darlings,  gentle  mountaineers  face  to  face 
with  the  sky,  kept  safe  and  warm  by  a  thou- 
sand miracles,  seeming  always  the  finer  and 
purer  the  wilder  and  stormier  their  homes. 
The  trees,  tough  and  resiny,  seem  unable  to 
go  a  step  farther;  but  up  and  up,  far  above  the 
tree-line,  these  tender  plants  climb,  cheerily 
spreading  their  gray  and  pink  carpets  right 
up  to  the  very  edges  of  the  snow-banks  in  deep 
hollows  and  shadows.  Here,  too,  is  the  familiar 
robin,  tripping  on  the  flowery  lawns,  bravely 
singing  the  same  cheery  song  I  first  heard 
when  a  boy  in  Wisconsin  newly  arrived  from 
old  Scotland.  In  this  fine  company  saunter- 
ing enchanted,  taking  no  heed  of  time,  I  at 
length  entered  the  gate  of  the  pass,  and  the 
huge  rocks  began  to  close  around  me  in  all 
their  mysterious  impressiveness.  Just  then  I 
was  startled  by  a  lot  of  queer,  hairy,  muffled 
creatures  coming  shuffling,  shambhng,  wallow- 

218 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

ing  toward  me  as  if  they  had  no  bones  in  their 
bodies.  Had  I  discovered  them  while  they 
were  yet  a  good  way  off,  I  should  have  tried 
to  avoid  them.  What  a  picture  they  made 
contrasted  with  the  others  I  had  just  been 
admiring.  When  I  came  up  to  them,  I  found 
that  they  were  only  a  band  of  Indians  from 
INlono  on  their  way  to  Yosemite  for  a  load  of 
acorns.  They  were  wrapped  in  blankets  made 
of  the  skins  of  sage-rabbits.  The  dirt  on  some 
of  the  faces  seemed  almost  old  enough  and 
thick  enough  to  have  a  geological  significance ; 
some  were  strangely  blurred  and  divided  into 
sections  by  seams  and  wrinkles  that  looked 
like  cleavage  joints,  and  had  a  worn  abraded 
look  as  if  they  had  lain  exposed  to  the  weather 
for  ages.  I  tried  to  pass  them  without  stopping, 
but  they  wouldn't  let  me;  forming  a  dismal 
circle  about  me,  I  was  closely  besieged  while 
they  begged  whiskey  or  tobacco,  and  it  was 
hard  to  convince  them  that  I  had  n't  any. 
How  glad  I  was  to  get  away  from  the  gray, 
grim  crowd  and  see  them  vanish  down  the 
trail!  Yet  it  seems  sad  to  feel  such  desperate 
repulsion  from  one's  fellow  beings,  however 
degraded.  To  prefer  the  society  of  squirrels 
and  woodchucks  to  that  of  our  own  species 
must  surely  be  unnatural.  So  with  a  fresh 
breeze  and  a  hill  or  mountain  between  us  I 
219 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

must  wish  them  Godspeed  and  try  to  pray  and 
sing  with  Burns,  "It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that, 
that  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er,  shall  brothers 
be  for  a'  that." 

How  the  day  passed  I  hardly  know.  By 
the  map  I  have  come  only  about  ten  or  twelve 
miles,  though  the  sun  is  already  low  in  the 
west,  showing  how  long  I  must  have  lingered, 
observing,  sketching,  taking  notes  among  the 
glaciated  rocks  and  moraines  and  Alpine 
flower-beds. 

At  sundown  the  somber  crags  and  peaks 
were  inspired  with  the  ineffable  beauty  of  the 
alpenglow,  and  a  solemn,  awful  stillness  hushed 
everything  in  the  landscape.  Then  I  crept 
into  a  hollow  by  the  side  of  a  small  lake  near 
the  head  of  the  caiion,  smoothed  a  sheltered 
spot,  and  gathered  a  few  pine  tassels  for  a  bed. 
After  the  short  twilight  began  to  fade  I  kin- 
dled a  sunny  fire,  made  a  tin  cupful  of  tea,  and 
lay  down  to  watch  the  stars.  Soon  the  night- 
wind  began  to  flow  from  the  snowy  peaks  over- 
head, at  first  only  a  gentle  breathing,  then 
gaining  strength,  in  less  than  an  hour  rum- 
bled in  massive  volume  something  like  a  bois- 
terous stream  in  a  boulder-choked  channel, 
roaring  and  moaning  down  the  canon  as  if  the 
work  it  had  to  do  was  tremendously  impor- 
tant and  fateful;  and  mingled  with  these  storm 

220 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

tones  were  those  of  the  waterfalls  on  the  north 
side  of  the  canon,  now  sounding  distinctly, 
now  smothered  by  the  heavier  cataracts  of  air, 
making  a  glorious  psalm  of  savage  wildness. 
My  fire  squirmed  and  struggled  as  if  ill  at 
case,  for  though  in  a  sheltered  nook,  detached 
masses  of  icy  wind  often  fell  hke  icebergs  on 
top  of  it,  scattering  sparks  and  coals,  so  that 
I  had  to  keep  well  back  to  avoid  being  burned. 
But  the  big  resiny  roots  and  knots  of  the 
dwarf  pine  could  neither  be  beaten  out  nor 
blown  away,  and  the  flames,  now  rushing  up 
in  long  lances,  now  flattened  and  twisted  on 
the  rocky  ground,  roared  as  if  trying  to  tell 
the  storm  stories  of  the  trees  they  belonged  to, 
as  the  light  given  out  was  teUing  the  story  of 
the  sunshine  they  had  gathered  in  centuries 
of  summers. 

The  stars  shone  clear  in  the  strip  of  sky  be- 
tween the  huge  dark  chfTs;  and  as  I  lay  recall- 
ing the  lessons  of  the  day,  suddenly  the  full 
moon  looked  dowTi  over  the  canon  wall,  her 
face  apparently  filled  with  eager  concern, 
which  had  a  startling  effect,  as  if  she  had  left 
her  place  in  the  sky  and  had  come  down  to 
gaze  on  me  alone,  hke  a  person  entering  one's 
bedroom.  It  was  hard  to  reahze  that  she  was 
in  her  place  in  the  sky,  and  was  looking  abroad 
on  half  the  globe,  land  and  sea,  mountains, 
221 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

plains,  lakes,  rivers,  oceans,  ships,  cities  with 
their  myriads  of  inhabitants  sleeping  and 
waking,  sick  and  well.  No,  she  seemed  to  be 
just  on  the  rim  of  Bloody  Cafion  and  looking 
only  at  me.  This  was  indeed  getting  near  to 
Nature.  I  remember  watching  the  harvest 
moon  rising  above  the  oak  trees  in  Wisconsin 
apparently  as  big  as  a  cart-wheel  and  not 
farther  than  half  a  mile  distant.  With  these 
exceptions  I  might  say  I  never  before  had  seen 
the  moon,  and  this  night  she  seemed  so  full 
of  Hfe  and  so  near,  the  effect  was  marvelously 
impressive  and  made  me  forget  the  Indians, 
the  great  black  rocks  above  me,  and  the  wild 
uproar  of  the  winds  and  waters  making  their 
way  down  the  huge  jagged  gorge.  Of  course 
I  slept  but  little  and  gladly  welcomed  the 
dawn  over  the  Mono  Desert.  By  the  time  I 
had  made  a  cupful  of  tea  the  sunbeams  were 
pouring  through  the  caiion,  and  I  set  forth, 
gazing  eagerly  at  the  tremendous  walls  of  red 
slates  savagely  hacked  and  scarred  and  appar- 
ently ready  to  fall  in  avalanches  great  enough 
to  choke  the  pass  and  fill  up  the  chain  of  lake- 
lets. But  soon  its  beauties  came  to  view,  and  I 
bounded  lightly  from  rock  to  rock,  admiring 
the  polished  bosses  shining  in  the  slant  sunshine 
with  glorious  effect  in  the  general  roughness  of 
moraines  and  avalanche  taluses,  even  toward 

222 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

the  head  of  the  canon  near  the  highest  foun- 
tums  of  the  ice.  Here,  too,  are  most  of  the 
lowly  plant  people  seen  yesterday  on  the 
other  side  of  the  divide  now  opening  their 
beautiful  eyes.  None  could  fail  to  glory  in 
Nature's  tender  care  for  them  in  so  wild  a 
place.  The  little  ouzel  is  flitting  from  rock 
to  rock  along  the  rapid  swirling  Canon  Creek, 
diving  for  breakfast  in  icy  pools,  and  merrily 
singing  as  if  the  huge  rugged  avalanche-swept 
gorge  was  the  most  delightful  of  all  its  moun- 
tain homes.  Besides  a  high  fall  on  the  north 
wall  of  the  canon,  apparently  coming  direct 
from  the  sky,  there  are  many  narrow  cascades, 
bright  silvery  ribbons  zigzagging  down  the  red 
cliffs,  tracing  the  diagonal  cleavage  joints  of 
the  metamorphic  slates,  now  contracted  and 
out  of  sight,  now  leaping  from  ledge  to  ledge 
in  filmy  sheets  through  which  the  sunbeams 
sift.  And  on  the  main  Cafion  Creek,  to  which 
all  these  are  tributary,  is  a  series  of  small  falls, 
cascades,  and  rapids  extending  all  the  way 
down  to  the  foot  of  the  cafion,  interrupted 
only  by  the  lakes  in  which  the  tossed  and 
beaten  waters  rest.  One  of  the  finest  of  the 
cascades  is  outspread  on  the  face  of  a  preci- 
pice, its  waters  sei)arated  into  ribbon-like 
strips,  and  woven  into  a  diamond-like  pattern 
by  tracing  the  cleavage  joints  of  the  rock, 

223 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

while  tufts  of  bryanthus,  grass,  sedge,  saxi- 
frage form  beautiful  fringes.  Who  could  im- 
agine beauty  so  fme  in  so  savage  a  place?  Gar- 
dens are  blooming  in  all  sorts  of  nooks  and 
hollows,  —  at  the  head  alpine  eriogonums, 
erigerons,  saxifrages,  gentians,  cowania,  bush 
primula;  in  the  middle  region  larkspur,  colum- 
bine, orthocarpus,  castilleia,  harebell,  epilo- 
bium,  violets,  mints,  yarrow;  near  the  foot 
sunflowers,  lilies,  brier  rose,  iris,  lonicera, 
clematis. 

One  of  the  smallest  of  the  cascades,  which 
I  name  the  Bower  Cascade,  is  in  the  lower 
region  of  the  pass,  where  the  vegetation  is 
snowy  and  luxuriant.  Wild  rose  and  dogwood 
form  dense  masses  overarching  the  stream, 
and  out  of  this  bower  the  creek,  grovvoi  strong 
with  many  indashing  tributaries,  leaps  forth 
into  the  light,  and  descends  in  a  fluted  curve 
thick-sown  with  crisp  flashing  spray.  At  the 
foot  of  the  caiion  there  is  a  lake  formed  in  part 
at  least  by  the  damming  of  the  stream  by  a 
terminal  moraine.  The  three  other  lakes  in 
the  cafion  are  in  basins  eroded  from  the  solid 
rock,  where  the  pressure  of  the  glacier  was 
greatest,  and  the  most  resisting  portions  of 
the  basin  rims  are  beautifully,  teUingly  pol- 
ished. Below  Moraine  Lake  at  the  foot  of  the 
canon  there  are  several  old  lake-basins  lying 

224 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

between  the  large  lateral  moraines  which  ex- 
tend out  into  the  desert.  These  basins  are 
now  completely  filled  up  by  the  material  car- 
ried in  by  the  streams,  and  changed  to  dry 
sandy  flats  covered  mostly  by  grass  and  artc- 
misia  and  sun-loving  flowers.  All  these  lower 
lake-basins  were  evidently  formed  by  terminal 
moraine  dams  deposited  where  the  receding 
glacier  had  lingered  during  short  periods  of  less 
waste,  or  greater  snowfall,  or  both. 

Looking  up  the  caiion  from  the  warm  sunny 
edge  of  the  Mono  plain  my  morning  ramble 
seems  a  dream,  so  great  is  the  change  in  the 
vegetation  and  climate.  The  Hlies  on  the  bank 
of  Moraine  Lake  are  higher  than  my  head, 
and  the  sunshine  is  hot  enough  for  palms.  Yet 
the  snow  round  the  arctic  gardens  at  the  sum- 
mit of  the  pass  is  plainly  visible,  only  about 
four  miles  away,  and  between  lie  specimen 
zones  of  all  the  principal  climates  of  the  globe. 
In  little  more  than  an  hour  one  may  swoop 
down  from  winter  to  summer,  from  an  Arctic 
to  a  torrid  region,  through  as  great  changes  of 
climate  as  one  would  encounter  in  traveling 
from  Labrador  to  Florida. 

The  Indians  I  had  met  near  the  head  of  the 

caiion  had  camped  at  the  foot  of  it  the  night 

before  they  made  the  ascent,  and  I  found  their 

lire  still  smoking  on  the  side  of  a  small  tributary 

.  225 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

stream  near  Moraine  Lake;  and  on  the  edge  of 
what  is  called  the  Mono  Desert,  four  or  five 
miles  from  the  lake,  I  came  to  a  patch  of  ely- 
mus,  or  wild  rye,  growing  in  magnificent  wav- 
ing clumps  six  or  eight  feet  high,  bearing  heads 
six  to  eight  inches  long.  The  crop  was  ripe,  and 
Indian  women  were  gathering  the  grain  in 
baskets  by  bending  down  large  handfuls,  beat- 
ing out  the  seed,  and  fanning  it  in  the  wind. 
The  grains  are  about  five  eighths  of  an  inch 
long,  dark-colored  and  sweet.  I  fancy  the  bread 
made  from  it  must  be  as  good  as  wheat  bread. 
A  fine  squirrelish  employment  this  wild  grain 
gathering  seems,  and  the  women  were  evidently 
enjoying  it,  laughing  and  chattering  and  look- 
ing almost  natural,  though  most  Indians  I  have 
seen  are  not  a  whit  more  natural  in  their  lives 
than  we  civilized  whites.  Perhaps  if  I  knew 
them  better  I  should  like  them  better.  The 
worst  thing  about  them  is  their  uncleanliness. 
Nothing  truly  wild  is  unclean.  Down  on  the 
shore  of  Mono  Lake  I  saw  a  number  of  their 
flimsy  huts  on  the  banks  of  streams  that  dash 
swiftly  into  that  dead  sea,  —  mere  brush  tents 
where  they  lie  and  eat  at  their  ease.  Some  of 
the  men  were  feasting  on  buffalo  berries,  lying 
beneath  the  tall  bushes  now  red  with  fruit.  The 
berries  are  rather  insipid,  but  they  must  needs 
be  wholesome,  since  for  days  and  weeks  the  In- 

226 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

dians,  it  is  said,  eat  nothing  else.  In  the  season 
they  in  like  manner  depend  chiefly  on  the  fat 
larvse  of  a  fly  that  breeds  in  the  salt  water  of 
the  lake,  or  on  the  big  fat  corrugated  cater- 
pillars of  a  species  of  silkworm  that  feeds  on 
the  leaves  of  the  yellow  pine.  Occasionally  a 
grand  rabbit-drive  is  organized  and  hundreds 
are  slain  with  clubs  on  the  lake  shore,  chased 
and  frightened  into  a  dense  crowd  by  dogs, 
boys,  girls,  men  and  women,  and  rings  of  sage 
brush  fire,  when  of  course  they  are  quickly 
killed.  The  skins  are  made  into  blankets.  In 
the  autumn  the  more  enterprising  of  the  hunt- 
ers bring  in  a  good  many  deer,  and  rarely  a 
wild  sheep  from  the  high  peaks.  Antelopes 
used  to  be  abundant  on  the  desert  at  the  base 
of  the  interior  mountain-ranges.  Sage  hens, 
grouse,  and  squirrels  help  to  vary  their  wild 
diet  of  worms ;  pine  nuts  also  from  the  small  in- 
teresting Pinus  monophylla,  and  good  bread 
and  good  mush  are  made  from  acorns  and  wild 
rye.  Strange  to  say,  they  seem  to  like  the  lake 
larva?  best  of  all.  Long  windrows  are  washed 
up  on  the  shore,  which  they  gather  and  dry 
like  grain  for  winter  use.  It  is  said  that  wars, 
on  account  of  encroachments  on  each  other's 
worm-grounds,  are  of  common  occurrence 
among  the  various  tribes  and  families.  Each 
claims  a  certain  marked  portion  of  the  shore. 
227 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

The  pine  nuts  are  delicious  —  large  quantities 
are  gathered  every  autumn.  The  tribes  of  the 
west  flank  of  the  range  trade  acorns  for  worms 
and  pine  nuts.  The  squaws  carry  immense 
loads  on  their  backs  across  the  rough  passes 
and  down  the  range,  making  journeys  of  about 
forty  or  fifty  miles  each  way. 

The  desert  around  the  lake  is  surprisingly 
flowery.  In  many  places  among  the  sage  bushes 
I  saw  mentzelia,  abronia,  aster,  bigelovia,  and 
gilia,  all  of  which  seemed  to  enjoy  the  hot  sun- 
shine. The  abronia,  in  particular,  is  a  delicate, 
fragrant,  and  most  charming  plant. 

Opposite  the  mouth  of  the  canon  a  range  of 
volcanic  cones  extends  southward  from  the 
lake,  rising  abruptly  out  of  the  desert  like  a 
chain  of  mountains.  The  largest  of  the  cones 
are  about  twenty-five  hundred  feet  high  above 
the  lake  level,  have  well-formed  craters,  and 
all  of  them  are  e\ddently  comparatively  recent 
additions  to  the  landscape.  At  a  distance  of 
a  few  miles  they  look  like  heaps  of  loose  ashes 
that  have  never  been  blest  by  either  rain  or 
snow,  but,  for  a'  that  and  a'  that,  yellow  pines 
are  climbing  their  gray  slopes,  tiying  to  clothe 
them  and  give  beauty  for  ashes.  A  country  of 
wonderful  contrasts.  Hot  deserts  bounded  by 
snow-laden  mountains,  —  cinders  and  ashes 
scattered   on   glacier-polished   pavements,  — ■ 

228 


,■^.,''■1  >      '  . 


^''../^^^ft'-Tnr*' 


MONO    I.AKK    AM)    \()1.(  AMC   CONKS,    l,(»()Kl.\(i    Sdl    III 


'X 


iiM.iii-i     \hiNM    \iii,(    \MC   ((im;v     \i;\i;    \ii:\\ 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

frost  and  fire  working  together  in  the  making 
of  beauty.  In  the  lake  are  several  volcanic 
islands,  which  show  that  the  waters  were  once 
mingled  with  fire. 

Glad  to  get  back  to  the  green  side  of  the 
mountains,  though  I  have  greatly  enjoyed  the 
gray  east  side  and  hope  to  see  more  of  it.  Read- 
ing these  grand  mountain  manuscripts  dis- 
played through  every  vicissitude  of  heat  and 
cold,  calm  and  storm,  upheaving  volcanoes  and 
down-grinding  glaciers,  we  see  that  everything 
in  Nature  called  destruction  must  be  creation 
—  a  change  from  beauty  to  beauty. 

Our  glacier  meadow  camp  north  of  the  Soda 
Springs  seems  more  beautiful  every  day.  The 
grass  covers  all  the  ground  though  the  leaves 
are  thread-like  in  fineness,  and  in  walking  on 
the  sod  it  seems  like  a  plush  carpet  of  marvel- 
ous richness  and  softness,  and  the  purple  pan- 
icles brushing  against  one's  feet  are  not  felt. 
This  is  a  typical  glacier  meadow,  occupying 
the  basin  of  a  vanished  lake,  very  definitely 
bounded  by  walls  of  the  arrowy  two-leaved 
pines  drawn  up  in  a  handsome  orderly  array 
like  soldiers  on  parade.  There  are  many  other 
meadows  of  the  same  kind  hereabouts  im- 
bedded in  the  woods.  The  main  big  mead- 
ows along  the  river  are  the  same  in  general  and 
extend  with  but  little  interruption  for  ten  or 

229 


MY  FIRST  SUMINIER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

twelve  miles,  but  none  I  have  seen  are  so  finely 
finished  and  perfect  as  this  one.  It  is  richer  in 
flowering  plants  than  the  prairies  of  Wisconsin 
and  Illinois  were  when  in  all  their  wild  glory. 
The  showy  flowers  are  mostly  three  species  of 
gentian,  a  purple  and  yellow  orthocarpus,  a 
golden-rod  or  two,  a  small  blue  pentstemon 
almost  like  a  gentian,  potentilla,  ivesia,  pedi- 
cularis,  white  violet,  kalmia,  and  bryanthus. 
There  are  no  coarse  weedy  plants.  Through 
this  flowery  lawn  flows  a  stream  silently  glid- 
ing, swirling,  slipping  as  if  careful  not  to  make 
the  slightest  noise.  It  is  only  about  three  feet 
wide  in  most  places,  w^idening  here  and  there 
into  pools  six  or  eight  feet  in  diameter  with  no 
apparent  current,  the  banks  bossily  rounded  by 
the  down-curving  mossy  sod,  grass  panicles 
over-leaning  like  miniature  pine  trees,  and  rugs 
of  bryanthus  spreading  here  and  there  over 
sunken  boulders.  At  the  foot  of  the  meadow  the 
stream,  rich  with  the  juices  of  the  plants  it  has 
refreshed,  sings  merrily  down  over  shelving  rock 
ledges  on  its  way  to  the  Tuolumne  River.  The 
sublime,  massive  Mount  Dana  and  its  compan- 
ions, green,  red,  and  white,  loom  impressively 
above  the  pines  along  the  eastern  horizon;  a 
range  or  spur  of  gray  rugged  granite  crags  and 
mountains  on  the  north;  the  curiously  crested 
and  battlemented  Mount  Hoffman  on  the  west; 

230 


BLOODY  CANON  AND  MONO  LAKE 

and  the  Cathedral  Range  on  the  south  with  its 
grand  Cathedral  Peak,  Cathedral  Spires,  Uni- 
corn Peak,  and  several  others,  gray  and  pointed 
or  massively  rounded. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   TUOLUMNE    CAMP 

August  22.  Clouds  none,  cool  west  wind, 
slight  hoarfrost  on  the  meadows.  Carlo  is  miss- 
ing; have  been  seeking  him  all  day.  In  the 
thick  woods  between  camp  and  the  river, 
among  tall  grass  and  fallen  pines,  I  discovered  a 
baby  fawn.  At  first  it  seemed  inclined  to  come 
to  me;  but  when  I  tried  to  catch  it,  and  got 
within  a  rod  or  two,  it  turned  and  walked 
softly  away,  choosing  its  steps  like  a  cautious, 
stealthy,  hunting  cat.  Then,  as  if  suddenly 
called  or  alarmed,  it  began  to  buck  and  run 
like  a  grown  deer,  jumping  high  above  the  fallen 
trunks,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight.  Possibly  its 
mother  may  have  called  it,  but  I  did  not  hear 
her.  I  don't  think  fawns  ever  leave  the  home 
thicket  or  follow  their  mothers  until  they  are 
called  or  frightened.  I  am  distressed  about 
Carlo.  There  are  several  other  camps  and  dogs 
not  many  miles  from  here,  and  I  still  hope  to 
find  him.  He  never  left  me  before.  Panthers 
are  very  rare  here,  and  I  don't  think  any  of 
these  cats  would  dare  touch  him.  He  knows 
bears  too  well  to  be  caught  by  them,  and  as  for 
Indians,  they  don't  want  him. 

232 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

August  23.  Cool,  bright  day,  hinting  Indian 
summer.  Mr.  Delaney  has  gone  to  the  Smith 
Ranch,  on  the  Tuolumne  below  Hetch-Hetchy 
Valley,  thirty-five  or  forty  miles  from  here,  so 
I  '11  be  alone  for  a  week  or  more,  —  not  really 
alone,  for  Carlo  has  come  back.  He  was  at  a 
camp  a  few  miles  to  the  northwestward.  He 
looked  sheepish  and  ashamed  when  I  asked  him 
where  he  had  been  and  why  he  had  gone  away 
without  leave.  He  is  now  trying  to  get  me  to 
caress  him  and  show  signs  of  forgiveness.  A 
wondrous  wise  dog.  A  great  load  is  off  my  mind. 
I  could  not  have  left  the  mountains  without 
him.   He  seems  very  glad  to  get  back  to  me. 

Rose  and  crimson  sunset,  and  soon  after  the 
stars  appeared  the  moon  rose  in  most  impres- 
sive majesty  over  the  top  of  Mount  Dana.  I 
sauntered  up  the  meadow^  in  the  white  light. 
The  jet-black  tree-shadows  were  so  wonder- 
fully distinct  and  substantial  looking,  I  often 
stepped  high  in  crossing  them,  taking  them  for 
black  charred  logs. 

August  24.  Another  charming  day,  warm 
and  calm  soon  after  sunrise,  clouds  only  about 
.01,  —  faint,  silky  cirrus  wisps,  scarcely  visible. 
Slight  frost,  Indian  summerish,  the  mountains 
growing  softer  in  outline  and  dreamy  looking, 
their  rough  angles  melted  off,  apparently.  Sky 
at  evening  with  fine,  dark,  subdued  purple,  al- 
233 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

most  like  the  evening  purple  of  the  San  Joa- 
quin plains  in  settled  weather.  The  moon  is 
now  gazing  over  the  summit  of  Dana.  Glorious 
exhilarating  air.  I  wonder  if  in  all  the  world 
there  is  another  mountain  range  of  equal 
height  blessed  with  weather  so  fine,  and  so 
openly  kind  and  hospitable  and  approachable. 

August  25.  Cool  as  usual  in  the  morning, 
quickly  changing  to  the  ordinary  serene  gener- 
ous warmth  and  brightness.  Toward  evening 
the  west  wind  was  cool  and  sent  us  to  the  camp- 
fire.  Of  all  Nature's  flowery  carpeted  moun- 
tain halls  none  can  be  finer  than  this  glacier 
meadow.  Bees  and  butterflies  seem  as  abun- 
dant as  ever.  The  birds  are  still  here,  showing 
no  sign  of  leaving  for  winter  quarters  though 
the  frost  must  bring  them  to  mind.  For  my 
part  I  should  like  to  stay  here  all  winter  or  all 
my  life  or  even  all  eternity. 

August  26.  Frost  this  morning;  all  the 
meadow  grass  and  some  of  the  pine  needles 
sparkling  with  irised  crystals,  —  flowers  of 
light.  Large  picturesque  clouds,  craggy  like 
rocks,  are  piled  on  Mount  Dana,  reddish  in 
color  like  the  mountain  itself ;  the  sky  for  a  few 
degrees  around  the  horizon  is  pale  purple,  into 
which  the  pines  dip  their  spires  with  fine  eff'ect. 
Spent  the  day  as  usual  looking  about  me,  watch- 
ing the  changing  lights,  the  ripening  autumn 
234 


THE  TTIOLTJMNE   CAMP 

colors  of  tho  p-ass,  seeds,  latc-bloominp;  gen- 
tians, asters,  goldenrods;  parting  the  meadow 
grass  here  and  there  and  looking  down  into  tho 
underwoT'ld  of  mosses  and  livciworts;  watching 
the  busy  ants  and  beetles  and  other  small  peo- 
ple at  work  and  play  like  squirrels  and  bears 
in  a  forest;  studj-ing  the  formation  of  lakes 
and  meadows,  moraines,  mountain  sculpture; 
making  small  beginnings  in  these  directions, 
charmed  by  the  serene  beauty  of  everything. 

The  day  has  been  extra  cloudy,  though 
bright  on  the  whole,  for  the  clouds  were 
brighter  than  common.  Clouds  about  .15, 
which  in  Switzerland  would  be  considered 
extra  clear.  Probably  more  free  sunshine  falls 
on  this  majestic  range  than  on  any  other  in 
the  world  I  've  ever  seen  or  heard  of.  It  has  the 
brightest  weather,  brightest  glacier-polished 
rocks,  the  greatest  abundance  of  irised  spray 
from  its  glorious  waterfalls,  the  brightest  for- 
ests of  silver  firs  and  silver  pines,  more  star- 
shine,  moonshine,  and  perhaps  more  crystal- 
shine  than  any  other  mountain  chain,  and  its 
countless  mirror  lakes,  having  more  light  poured 
into  them,  glow  and  spangle  most.  And  how 
glorious  the  shining  after  the  short  sunomer 
showers  and  after  frosty  nights  when  the  morn- 
ing sunbeams  are  pouring  through  the  crystals 
on"  the  grass  and  pine  needles,  and  how  ineffa- 
235 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

bly  spiritually  fine  is  the  morning-glow  on  the 
mountain-tops  and  the  alpenglow  of  evening. 
Well  may  the  Sierra  be  named,  not  the  Snowy 
Range,  but  the  Range  of  Light. 

August  27.  Clouds  only  .05,  —  mostly  white 
and  pink  cumuli  over  the  Hoffman  spur  to- 
wards evening,  —  frosty  morning.  Crystals 
grow  in  marvelous  beauty  and  perfection  of 
form  these  still  nights,  every  one  built  as 
carefully  as  the  grandest  holiest  temple,  as  if 
planned  to  endure  forever. 

Contemplating  the  lace-like  fabric  of  streams 
outspread  over  the  mountains,  we  are  reminded 
that  everything  is  flowing  —  going  somewhere, 
animals  and  so-called  lifeless  rocks  as  well  as 
water.  Thus  the  snow  flows  fast  or  slow  in 
grand  beauty-making  glaciers  and  avalanches; 
the  air  in  majestic  floods  carrying  minerals, 
plant  leaves,  seeds,  spores,  with  streams  of 
music  and  fragrance;  water  streams  carrying 
rocks  both  in  solution  and  in  the  form  of  mud 
particles,  sand,  pebbles,  and  boulders.  Rocks 
flow  from  volcanoes  like  water  from  springs, 
and  animals  flock  together  and  flow  in  currents 
modified  by  stepping,  leaping,  gliding,  flying, 
swimming,  etc.  While  the  stars  go  streaming 
through  space  pulsed  on  and  on  forever  like 
blood  globules  in  Nature's  warm  heart. 

August  28.    The  dawn  a  glorious  song  of 

236 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

color.  Sky  absolutely  cloudless.  A  fine  crop  of 
hoarfrost.  Warm  after  ten  o'clock.  The  gen- 
tians don't  mind  the  first  frost  though  their 
petals  seem  so  dehcate;  they  close  every  night 
as  if  going  to  sleep,  and  awake  fresh  as  ever  in 
the  morning  sun-glory.  The  grass  is  a  shade 
browner  since  last  week,  but  there  are  no 
nipped  wilted  plants  of  any  sort  as  far  as  I 
have  seen.  Butterflies  and  the  grand  host  of 
smaller  flies  are  benumbed  every  night,  but 
they  hover  and  dance  in  the  sunbeams  over  the 
meadows  before  noon  with  no  apparent  lack  of 
playful,  joyful  hfe.  Soon  they  must  all  fall  like 
petals  in  an  orchard,  dry  and  wrinkled,  not  a 
wing  of  all  the  mighty  host  left  to  tingle  the 
air.  Nevertheless  new  myriads  will  arise  in  the 
spring,  rejoicing,  exulting,  as  if  laughing  cold 
death  to  scorn. 

August  29.  Clouds  about  .05,  slight  frost. 
Bland  serene  Indian  summer  weather.  Have 
been  gazing  all  day  at  the  mountains,  watch- 
ing the  changing  lights.  More  and  more  plainly 
are  they  clothed  with  fight  as  a  garment,  white 
tinged  with  pale  purple,  palest  during  the 
midday  hours,  richest  in  the  morning  and  even- 
ing. Everything  seems  consciously  peaceful, 
thoughtful,  faithfully  waiting  God's  will. 

August  30.  This  day  just  like  yesterday.  A 
few  clouds  motionless  and  apparently  with  no 
237 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

work  to  do  beyond  looking  beautiful.  Frost 
enough  for  crystal  building,  —  glorious  fields 
of  ice-diamonds  destined  to  last  but  a  night. 
How  lavish  is  Nature  building,  pulling  down, 
creating,  destroying,  chasing  every  material 
particle  from  form  to  form,  ever  changing,  ever 
beautiful. 

Mr.  Delaney  arrived  this  morning.  Felt  not 
a  trace  of  loneliness  while  he  was  gone.  On 
the  contrary,  I  never  enjoyed  grander  com- 
pany. The  whole  wilderness  seems  to  be  alive 
and  familiar,  full  of  humanity.  The  very  stones 
seem  talkative,  sympathetic,  brotherly.  No 
wonder  when  we  consider  that  we  all  have  the 
same  Father  and  Mother. 

August  31.  Clouds  .05.  Silky  cirrus  wisps 
and  fringes  so  fine  they  almost  escape  notice. 
Frost  enough  for  another  crop  of  crystals  on 
the  meadows  but  none  on  the  forests.  The 
gentians,  goldenrods,  asters,  etc.,  don't  seem 
to  feel  it ;  neither  petals  nor  leaves  are  touched 
though  they  seem  so  tender.  Every  day  opens 
and  closes  Uke  a  flower,  noiseless,  effortless. 
Divine  peace  glows  on  all  the  majestic  land- 
scape like  the  silent  enthusiastic  joy  that 
sometimes  transfigures  a  noble  human  face. 

September  1.  Clouds  .05  —  motionless,  of 
no  particular  color  —  ornaments  with  no  hint 
of  rain  or  snow  in  them.  Day  all  calm  —  an- 
238 


THE  TUOLTIMNE   CAIVIP 

other  grand  throb  of  Nature's  heart,  ripening 
late  flowers  and  seeds  for  next  summer,  full  of 
life  and  the  thoughts  and  plans  of  life  to  come, 
and  full  of  ripe  and  ready  death  beautiful  as 
life,  telling  divine  wisdom  and  goodness  and 
immortality.    Have  been  up   Mount   Dana, 
making  haste  to  see  as  much  as  I  can  now  that 
the  time  of  departure  is  drawing  nigh.    The 
views  from  the  summit  reach  far  and  wide, 
eastward  over  the  Mono  Lake  and  Desert; 
mountains  beyond  mountains  looking  strangely 
bairen  and  gray  and  bare  Uke  heaps  of  ashes 
dumped  from  the  sky.  The  lake,  eight  or  ten 
miles  in  diameter,  shines  like  a  burnished  disk 
of  silver,  no  trees  about  its  gray,  ashy,  cindery 
shores.    Looking  westward,  the  glorious  for- 
ests are  seen  sweeping  over  countless  ridges 
and   hills,    girdling   domes   and   subordinate 
mountains,  fringing  in  long  curving  lines  the 
dividing  ridges,  and  filling  every  hollow  where 
the  glaciers  have  spread  soil-beds  however  rocky 
or  smooth.     Looking   northward   and  south- 
ward along  the  axis  of  the  range,  you  see  the 
glorious  array  of  high  mountains,  crags  and 
peaks  and  snow,  the  fountain-heads  of  rivers 
that  are  flowing  west  to  the  sea  through  the 
famous  Golden  Gate,  and  east  to  hot  salt  lakes 
and  deserts  to  evaporate  and  hurry  back  into 
the  sky.    Innumerable  lakes  are  shining  like 
239 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

eyes  beneath  heavy  rock  brows,  bare  or  tree 
fringed,  or  imbedded  in  black  forests.  Meadow 
openings  in  the  woods  seem  as  numerous  as 
the  lakes  or  perhaps  more  so.  Far  up  the  mo- 
raine-covered slopes  and  among  crumbUng 
rocks  I  found  many  delicate  hardy  plants, 
some  of  them  still  in  flower.  The  best  gains 
of  this  trip  were  the  lessons  of  unity  and  inter- 
relation of  all  the  features  of  the  landscape 
revealed  in  general  views.  The  lakes  and 
meadows  are  located  just  where  the  ancient 
glaciers  bore  heaviest  at  the  foot  of  the  steep- 
est parts  of  their  channels,  and  of  course  their 
longest  diameters  are  approximately  parallel 
with  each  other  and  with  the  belts  of  forests 
growing  in  long  curving  lines  on  the  lateral 
and  medial  moraines,  and  in  broad  outspread- 
ing fields  on  the  terminal  beds  deposited  to- 
ward the  end  of  the  ice  period  when  the  gla- 
ciers were  receding.  The  domes,  ridges,  and 
spurs  also  show  the  influence  of  glacial  action 
in  their  forms,  which  approximately  seem  to 
be  the  forms  of  greatest  strength  with  refer- 
ence to  the  stress  of  oversweeping,  past-sweep- 
ing, down-grinding  ice-streams;  survivals  of 
the  most  resisting  masses,  or  those  most  favor- 
ably situated.  How  interesting  everything  is! 
Every  rock,  mountain,  stream,  plant,  lake, 
lawn,  forest,  garden,  bird,  beast,  insect  seems 

240 


s. 

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I- 

ONK   Ol'   Tin;    IIKMlKsr    MOINT   RITTER   FOUNTAINS 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

to  call  and  invite  us  to  come  and  learn  some- 
thing of  its  history  and  relationship.  But  shall 
the  poor  ignorant  scholar  be  allowed  to  try 
the  lessons  they  offer?  It  seems  too  great  and 
good  to  be  true.  Soon  I  '11  be  going  to  the  low- 
lands. The  bread  camp  must  soon  be  removed. 
If  I  had  a  few  sacks  of  flour,  an  axe,  and  some 
matches,  I  would  build  a  cabin  of  pine  logs, 
pile  up  plenty  of  firewood  about  it  and  stay  all 
winter  to  see  the  grand  fertile  snow-storms, 
watch  the  birds  and  animals  that  winter  thus 
high,  how  they  Uve,  how  the  forests  look  snow- 
laden  or  buried,  and  how  the  avalanches  look 
and  sound  on  their  way  down  the  mountains. 
But  now  I'll  have  to  go,  for  there  is  nothing 
to  spare  in  the  way  of  provisions.  I'll  surely 
be  back,  however,  surely  I'll  be  back.  No 
other  place  has  ever  so  overwhelmingly  at- 
tracted me  as  this  hospitable,  Godful  wilder- 
ness. 

September  2.  A  grand,  red,  rosy,  crimson 
day,  —  a  perfect  glory  of  a  day.  What  it 
means  I  don't  know.  It  is  the  first  marked 
change  from  tranquil  sunshine  with  purple 
mornings  and  evenings  and  still,  white  noons. 
There  is  nothing  hke  a  storm,  however.  The 
average  cloudiness  only  about  .08,  and  there 
is  no  sighing  in  the  woods  to  betoken  a  big 
weather   change.    The   sky   was   red   in   the 

241 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

morning  and  evening,  the  color  not  diffused 
like  the  ordinary  purple  glow,  but  loaded  upon 
separate  well-defined  clouds  that  remained 
motionless,  as  if  anchored  around  the  jagged 
mountain-fenced  horizon.  A  deep-red  cap, 
bluffy  around  its  sides,  lingered  a  long  time 
on  Mount  Dana  and  Mount  Gibbs,  drooping 
so  low  as  to  hide  most  of  their  bases,  but  leav- 
ing Dana's  round  summit  free,  which  seemed 
to  float  separate  and  alone  over  the  big  crimson 
cloud.  Mammoth  Mountain,  to  the  south  of 
Gibbs  and  Bloody  Canon,  striped  and  spotted 
with  snow-banks  and  clumps  of  dwarf  pine, 
was  also  favored  with  a  glorious  crimson  cap, 
in  the  making  of  which  there  was  no  trace  of 
economy  —  a  huge  bossy  pile  colored  with  a 
perfect  passion  of  crimson  that  seemed  impor- 
tant enough  to  be  sent  off  to  burn  among  the 
stars  in  majestic  independence.  One  is  con- 
stantly reminded  of  the  infinite  lavishness  and 
fertility  of  Nature  —  inexhaustible  abundance 
amid  what  seems  enormous  waste.  And  yet 
when  we  look  into  any  of  her  operations  that 
lie  within  reach  of  our  minds,  we  learn  that 
no  particle  of  her  material  is  wasted  or  worn 
out.  It  is  eternally  flowing  from  use  to  use, 
beauty  to  yet  higher  beauty ;  and  we  soon  cease 
to  lament  waste  and  death,  and  rather  rejoice 
and  exult  in  the  imperishable,  unspendable 

242 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

wealth  of  the  universe,  and  faithfully  watch 
and  wait  the  reappearance  of  everything  that 
melts  and  fades  and  dies  about  us,  feeling  sure 
that  its  next  appearance  will  be  better  and 
more  beautiful  than  the  last. 

I  watched  the  growth  of  these  red-lands  of 
the  sky  as  eagerly  as  if  new  mountain  ranges 
were  being  built.  Soon  the  group  of  snowy 
peaks  in  whose  recesses  lie  the  highest  foun- 
tains of  the  Tuolumne,  Merced,  and  North 
Fork  of  the  San  Joaquin  were  decorated  with 
majestic  colored  clouds  like  those  already  de- 
scribed, but  more  complicated,  to  correspond 
with  the  grand  fountain-heads  of  the  rivers 
they  overshadowed.  The  Sierra  Cathedral,  to 
the  south  of  camp,  was  overshadowed  like 
Sinai.  Never  before  noticed  so  fine  a  union  of 
rock  and  cloud  in  form  and  color  and  substance, 
drawing  earth  and  sky  together  as  one;  and 
so  human  is  it,  every  feature  and  tint  of  color 
goes  to  one's  heart,  and  we  shout,  exulting  in 
wild  enthusiasm  as  if  all  the  divine  show  were 
our  own.  I\Iore  and  more,  in  a  place  like  this, 
we  feel  ourselves  part  of  wild  Nature,  kin  to 
everything.  Spent  most  of  the  day  high  up 
on  the  north  rim  of  the  valley,  commanding 
views  of  the  clouds  in  all  their  red  glory  spread- 
ing their  wonderful  light  over  all  the  basin, 
while  the  rocks  and  trees  and  small  Alpine 
243 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

plants  at  my  feet  seemed  hushed  and  thought- 
ful, as  if  they  also  were  conscious  spectators 
of  the  glorious  new  cloud-world. 

Here  and  there,  as  I  plodded  farther  and 
higher,  I  came  to  small  garden-patches  and 
ferneries  just  where  one  would  naturally  de- 
cide that  no  plant-creature  could  possibly  live. 
But,  as  in  the  region  about  the  head  of  Mono 
Pass  and  the  top  of  Dana,  it  was  in  the  wild- 
est, highest  places  that  the  most  beautiful 
and  tender  and  enthusiastic  plant-people  were 
found.  Again  and  again,  as  I  lingered  over 
these  charming  plants,  I  said.  How  came  you 
here?  How  do  you  live  through  the  winter? 
Our  roots,  they  explained,  reach  far  down  the 
joints  of  the  summer-warmed  rocks,  and  be- 
neath our  fine  snow  mantle  killing  frosts  can- 
not reach  us,  while  we  sleep  away  the  dark 
half  of  the  year  dreaming  of  spring. 

Ever  since  I  was  allowed  entrance  into  these 
mountains  I  have  been  looking  for  cassiope, 
said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  and  best  loved  of 
the  heathworts,  but,  strange  to  say,  I  have  not 
yet  found  it.  On  my  high  mountain  walks 
I  keep  muttering,  "Cassiope,  cassiope."  This 
name,  as  Calvinists  say,  is  driven  in  upon  me, 
notwithstanding  the  glorious  host  of  plants 
that  come  about  me  uncalled  as  soon  as  I  show 
myself.    Cassiope  seems  the  highest  name  of 

244 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

all  the  small  mountain-heath  people,  and  as 
if  conscious  of  her  worth,  keeps  out  of  my  way. 
I  must  find  her  soon,  if  at  all  this  year. 

September  4.  All  the  vast  sky  dome  is  clear, 
filled  only  with  mellow  Indian  summer  light. 
The  pine  and  hemlock  and  fir  cones  are  nearly 
ripe  and  are  falling  fast  from  morning  to  night, 
cut  off  and  gathered  by  the  busy  squirrels. 
Almost  all  the  plants  have  matured  their  seeds, 
their  summer  work  done ;  and  the  summer  crop 
of  birds  and  deer  will  soon  be  able  to  follow 
their  parents  to  the  foothills  and  plains  at  the 
approach  of  winter,  when  the  snow  begins  to 

fly. 

September  5.  No  clouds.  Weather  cool, 
cahn,  bright  as  if  no  great  thing  was  yet  ready 
to  be  done.  Have  been  sketching  the  North 
Tuolumne  Church.  The  sunset  gloriously 
colored. 

September  6.  Still  another  perfectly  cloud- 
less day,  purple  evening  and  morning,  all  the 
middle  hours  one  mass  of  pure  serene  sunshine. 
Soon  after  sunrise  the  air  grew  warm,  and 
there  was  no  wind.  One  naturally  halted  to 
see  what  Nature  intended  to  do.  There  is  a 
suggestion  of  real  Indian  summer  in  the  huslied 
brooding,  faintly  haz}'  weather.  The  yellow 
atmosphere,  though  thin,  is  still  plainly  of 
the  same  general  character  as  that  of  eastern 
245 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

Indian  summer.  The  peculiar  mellowness  is 
perhaps  in  part  caused  by  myriads  of  ripe 
spores  adrift  in  the  sky. 

Mr.  Delaney  now  keeps  up  a  solemn  talk 
about  the  need  of  getting  away  from  these 
high  mountains,  telling  sad  stories  of  flocks 
that  perished  in  storms  that  broke  suddenly 
into  the  midst  of  fine  innocent  weather  like 
this  we  are  now  enjoying.  "In  no  case,"  said 
he,  "will  I  venture  to  stay  so  high  and  far  back 
in  the  mountains  as  we  now  are  later  than  the 
middle  of  this  month,  no  matter  how  warm 
and  sunny  it  may  be."  He  would  move  the 
flock  slowly  at  first,  a  few  miles  a  day  until 
the  Yosemite  Creek  basin  was  reached  and 
crossed,  then  while  lingering  in  the  heavy  pine 
woods  should  the  weather  threaten  he  could 
hurry  down  to  the  foothills,  where  the  snow 
never  falls  deep  enough  to  smother  a  sheep. 
Of  course  I  am  anxious  to  see  as  much  of  the 
wilderness  as  possible  in  the  few  days  left  me, 
and  I  say  again,  —  May  the  good  time  come 
when  I  can  stay  as  long  as  I  like  with  plenty 
of  bread,  far  and  free  from  trampling  flocks, 
though  I  may  well  be  thankful  for  this  gen- 
erous foodful  inspiring  summer.  Anyhow  we 
never  know  where  we  must  go  nor  what 
guides  we  are  to  get,  —  men,  storms,  guardian 
angels,  or  sheep.  Perhaps  almost  everybody  in 

246 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

the  least  natural  is  guarded  more  than  he  is 
ever  aware  of.  All  the  wilderness  seems  to  be 
full  of  tricks  and  plans  to  drive  and  draw  us  up 
into  God's  Light. 

Have  been  busy  planning,  and  baking  bread 
for  at  least  one  more  good  wild  excursion 
among  the  high  peaks,  and  surely  none,  how- 
ever hopefully  aiming  at  fortune  or  fame,  ever 
felt  so  gloriously  happily  excited  by  the  out- 
look. 

September  7.  Left  camp  at  daybreak  and 
made  direct  for  Cathedral  Peak,  intending 
to  strike  eastward  and  southward  from  that 
point  among  the  peaks  and  ridges  at  the  heads 
of  the  Tuolumne,  Merced,  and  San  Joaquin 
Rivers.  Down  through  the  pine  woods  I  made 
my  way,  across  the  Tuolumne  River  and 
meadows,  and  up  the  heavily  timbered  slope 
forming  the  south  boundary  of  the  upper  Tuol- 
umne basin,  along  the  east  side  of  Cathedral 
Peak,  and  up  to  its  topmost  spire,  which  I 
reached  at  noon,  having  loitered  by  the  way 
to  study  the  fine  trees  —  two-leaved  pine, 
mountain  pine,  albicaulis  pine,  silver  fir,  and 
the  most  charming,  most  graceful  of  all  the 
evergreens,  the  mountain  hemlock.  High,  cool, 
late-flowering  meadows  also  detained  me,  and 
lakelets  and  avalanche  tracks  and  huge  quar- 
ries of  moraine  rocks  above  the  forests. 
247 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

All  the  way  up  from  the  Big  Meadows  to 
the  base  of  the  Cathedral  the  ground  is  cov- 
ered with  moraine  material,  the  left  lateral 
moraine  of  the  great  glacier  that  must  have 
completely  filled  this  upper  Tuolumne  basin. 
Higher  there  are  several  small  terminal  mo- 
raines of  residual  glaciers  shoved  forward  at 
right  angles  against  the  grand  simple  lateral 
of  the  main  Tuolumne  Glacier.  A  fine  place 
to  study  mountain  sculpture  and  soil  making. 
The  view  from  the  Cathedral  Spires  is  very 
fine  and  telling  in  every  direction.  Innumer- 
able peaks,  ridges,  domes,  meadows,  lakes, 
and  woods ;  the  forests  extending  in  long  curv- 
ing lines  and  broad  fields  wherever  the  glaciers 
have  left  soil  for  them  to  grow  on,  while  the 
sides  of  the  highest  mountains  show  a  strag- 
gling dwarf  growth  clinging  to  rifts  in  the 
rocks  apparently  independent  of  soil.  The 
dark  heath-like  growth  on  the  Cathedral  roof 
I  found  to  be  dwarf  snow-pressed  albicaulis 
pine,  about  three  or  four  feet  high,  but  very 
old  looking.  Many  of  them  are  bearing  cones, 
and  the  noisy  Clarke  crow  is  eating  the  seeds, 
using  his  long  bill  like  a  woodpecker  in  dig- 
ging them  out  of  the  cones.  A  good  many 
flowers  are  still  in  bloom  about  the  base  of  the 
peak,  and  even  on  the  roof  among  the  little 
pines,  especially  a  woody  yellow-flowered  eri- 

248 


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GLACIKIt    MKADOW    STKEWX    WITH   -MOKAIXE   UOTLDERS 
111,001)    KKKI'    AUKVi:   TIIK   SKA     XKAK    ^rOfNT   IJAXA) 


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FRONT   UK    CATlli;i>i;U.    I'KAK 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

ogonum  and  a  handsome  aster.  The  body  of 
the  Cathedral  is  nearly  square,  and  the  roof 
slopes  are  wonderfully  regular  and  symmetri- 
cal, the  ridge  trending  northeast  and  south- 
west. This  direction  has  apparently  been 
determined  by  structure  joints  in  the  granite. 
The  gable  on  the  northeast  end  is  magnificent 
in  size  and  simphcity,  and  at  its  base  there  is 
a  big  snow-bank  protected  by  the  shadow  of 
the  building.  The  front  is  adorned  with  many 
pinnacles  and  a  tall  spire  of  curious  work- 
manship. Here  too  the  joints  in  the  rock  are 
seen  to  have  played  an  important  part  in  de- 
termining their  forms  and  size  and  general  ar- 
rangement. The  Cathedral  is  said  to  be  about 
eleven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  but  the 
height  of  the  building  itself  above  the  level 
of  the  ridge  it  stands  on  is  about  fifteen  hun- 
dred feet.  A  mile  or  so  to  the  westward  there 
is  a  handsome  lake,  and  the  glacier-polished 
granite  about  it  is  shining  so  brightly  it  is  not 
easy  in  some  places  to  trace  the  line  between 
the  rock  and  water,  both  shining  alike.  Of 
this  lake  with  its  silvery  basin  and  bits  of 
meadow  and  groves  I  have  a  fine  view  from 
the  spires;  also  of  Lake  Tenaya,  Cloud's  Rest 
and  the  South  Dome  of  Yosemite,  Mount  Starr 
King,  Mount  Hoffman,  the  Merced  peaks, 
and  the  vast  multitude  of  snowy  fountain 

2« 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

peaks  extending  far  north  and  south  along  the 
axis  of  the  range.  No  feature,  however,  of  all 
the  noble  landscape  as  seen  from  here  seems 
more  wonderful  than  the  Cathedral  itself,  a 
temple  displaying  Nature's  best  masonry  and 
sermons  in  stones.  How  often  I  have  gazed 
at  it  from  the  tops  of  hills  and  ridges,  and 
through  openings  in  the  forests  on  my  many 
short  excursions,  devoutly  wondering,  admir- 
ing, longing!  This  I  may  say  is  the  first  time 
I  have  been  at  church  in  California,  led  here 
at  last,  every  door  graciously  opened  for  the 
poor  lonely  worshiper.  In  our  best  times  every- 
thing turns  into  religion,  all  the  world  seems 
a  church  and  the  mountains  altars.  And  lo, 
here  at  last  in  front  of  the  Cathedral  is  blessed 
cassiope,  ringing  her  thousands  of  sweet-toned 
bells,  the  sweetest  church  music  I  ever  en- 
joyed. Listening,  admiring,  until  late  in  the 
afternoon  I  compelled  myself  to  hasten  away 
eastward  back  of  rough,  sharp,  spiry,  splintery 
peaks,  all  of  them  granite  like  the  Cathedral, 
sparkling  with  crystals  —  feldspar,  quartz, 
hornblende,  mica,  tourmaline.  Had  a  rather 
difficult  walk  and  creep  across  an  immense 
snow  and  ice  cliff  which  gradually  increased 
in  steepness  as  I  advanced  until  it  was  almost 
impassable.  Slipped  on  a  dangerous  place, 
but  managed  to  stop  by  digging  my  heels  into 

C50 


THE  TITOLTJMNE  CAMP 

the  thawing  surface  just  on  the  brink  of  a 
yawning  ice  gulf.  Camped  beside  a  little  pool 
and  a  group  of  crinkled  dwarf  pines;  and  as  I 
sit  by  the  fire  trying  to  write  notes  the  shallow 
pool  seems  fathomless  with  the  infinite  starry 
heavens  in  it,  while  the  onlooking  rocks  and 
trees,  tiny  shrubs  and  daisies  and  sedges, 
brought  forward  in  the  fire-glow,  seem  full  of 
thought  as  if  about  to  speak  aloud  and  tell  all 
their  wild  stories.  A  marvelously  impressive 
meeting  in  which  every  one  has  something 
worth  while  to  tell.  And  beyond  the  fire- 
beams  out  in  the  solemin  darkness,  how  im- 
pressive is  the  music  of  a  choir  of  rills  singing 
their  way  down  from  the  snow  to  the  river! 
And  when  we  call  to  mind  that  thousands  of 
these  rejoicing  rills  are  assembled  in  each  one 
of  the  main  streams,  we  wonder  the  less  that 
our  Sierra  rivers  are  songful  all  the  way  to  the 
sea. 

About  sundown  saw  a  flock  of  dun  grayish 
sparrows  going  to  roost  in  crevices  of  a  crag 
above  the  big  snow-field.  Charming  little 
mountaineers!  Found  a  species  of  sedge  in 
flower  within  eight  or  ten  feet  of  a  snow-bank. 
Judging  by  the  looks  of  the  ground,  it  can 
hardly  have  been  out  in  the  sunshine  much 
longer  than  a  week,  and  it  is  likely  to  be  buried 
again  in  fresh  snow  in  a  month  or  so,  thus 

251 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

making  a  winter  about  ten  months  long,  while 
spring,  summer,  and  autumn  are  crowded  and 
hurried  into  two  months.  How  delightful  it 
is  to  be  alone  here !  How  wild  everything  is  — 
wild  as  the  sky  and  as  pure!  Never  shall  I  for- 
get this  big,  divine  day  —  the  Cathedral  and 
its  thousands  of  cassiope  bells,  and  the  land- 
scapes around  them,  and  this  camp  in  the  gray 
crags  above  the  woods,  with  its  stars  and 
streams  and  snow. 

September  8.  Day  of  climbing,  scrambling, 
sliding  on  the  peaks  around  the  highest  source 
of  the  Tuolumne  and  Merced.  Climbed  three 
of  the  most  commanding  of  the  mountains, 
whose  names  I  don't  know;  crossed  streams 
and  huge  beds  of  ice  and  snow  more  than  I 
could  keep  count  of.  Neither  could  I  keep 
count  of  the  lakes  scattered  on  tablelands  and 
in  the  cirques  of  the  peaks,  and  in  chains  in 
the  canons,  linked  together  by  the  streams  — 
a  tremendously  wild  gray  wilderness  of  hacked, 
shattered  crags,  ridges,  and  peaks,  a  few  clouds 
drifting  over  and  through  the  midst  of  them 
as  if  looking  for  work.  In  general  views  all  the 
immense  round  landscape  seems  raw  and  life- 
less as  a  quarry,  yet  the  most  charming  flowers 
were  found  rejoicing  in  countless  nooks  and 
garden-like  patches  everywhere.  I  must  have 
done  three  or  four  days'  climbing  work  in  this 

252 


It- '  J 


^ 


VIEW  OF  iri'KU  Ti oi.i mm;  vai.ij-.y 


THE  TUOLUMNE  CAMP 

one.  Limbs  perfectly  tireless  until  near  sun- 
down, when  I  descended  into  the  main  upper 
Tuolumne  valley  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Ljcll, 
the  camp  still  eight  or  ten  miles  distant.  Going 
up  through  the  pine  woods  past  the  Soda 
Springs  Dome  in  the  dark,  where  there  is 
much  fallen  timber,  and  when  all  the  excite- 
ment of  seeing  things  was  wanting,  I  was  tired. 
Arrived  at  the  main  camp  at  nine  o'clock,  and 
soon  was  sleeping  sound  as  death. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BACK   TO   THE   LOWLANDS 

September  9.  Weariness  rested  away  and  I 
feel  eager  and  ready  for  another  excursion  a 
month  or  two  long  in  the  same  wonderful  wil- 
derness. Now,  however,  I  must  turn  toward 
the  lowlands,  praying  and  hoping  Heaven  will 
shove  me  back  again. 

The  most  telling  thing  learned  in  these 
mountain  excursions  is  the  influence  of  cleav- 
age joints  on  the  features  sculptured  from  the 
general  mass  of  the  range.  Evidently  the  de- 
nudation has  been  enormous,  while  the  inevit- 
able outcome  is  subtle  balanced  beauty.  Com- 
prehended in  general  views,  the  features  of  the 
wildest  landscape  seem  to  be  as  harmoniously 
related  as  the  features  of  a  human  face.  Indeed, 
they  look  human  and  radiate  spiritual  beauty, 
divine  thought,  however  covered  and  con- 
cealed by  rock  and  snow. 

Mr.  Delaney  has  hardly  had  time  to  ask  me 
how  I  enjoyed  my  trip,  though  he  has  facili- 
tated and  encouraged  my  plans  all  summer, 
and  declares  I'll  be  famous  some  day,  a  kind 
guess  that  seems  strange  and  incredible  to 
a  wandering   wilderness-lover   with   never   a 

254 


BACK  TO  THE  LOWLANDS 

thought  or  dream  of  fame  while  humbly  trying 
to  trace  and  learn  and  enjoy  Nature's  lessons. 

The  camp  stuff  is  now  packed  on  the  horses, 
and  the  flock  is  headed  for  the  home  ranch. 
Away  we  go,  down  through  the  pines,  leaving 
the  lovely  lawn  where  we  have  camped  so  long. 
I  wonder  if  I  '11  ever  see  it  again.  The  sod  is  so 
tough  and  close  it  is  scarcely  at  all  injured  by 
the  sheep.  Fortunately  they  are  not  fond  of 
silky  glacier  meadow  grass.  The  day  is  per- 
fectly clear,  not  a  cloud  or  the  faintest  hint  of  a 
cloud  is  visible,  and  there  is  no  wind.  I  wonder 
if  in  all  the  world,  at  a  height  of  nine  thousand 
feet,  weather  so  steadily,  faithfully  calm  and 
bright  and  hospitable  may  anywhere  else  be 
found.  We  are  going  away  fearing  destructive 
storms,  though  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  weather 
changes  so  great. 

Though  the  water  is  now  low  in  the  river,  the 
usual  difficulty  occurred  in  getting  the  flock 
across  it.  Every  sheep  seemed  to  be  invinci- 
bly determined  to  die  any  sort  of  dry  death 
rather  than  wet  its  feet.  Carlo  has  learned  the 
sheep  business  as  perfectly  as  the  best  shep- 
herd, and  it  is  interesting  to  watch  his  intelli- 
gent efforts  to  push  or  frighten  the  silly  crea- 
tures into  the  water.  They  had  to  be  fairly 
crowded  and  shoved  over  the  bank;  and  when 
•*^  last  one  crossed  because  it  could  not  push 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

its  way  back,  the  whole  flock  suddenly  plunged 
in  headlong  together,  as  if  the  river  was  the 
only  desirable  part  of  the  world.  Aside  from 
mere  money  profit  one  would  rather  herd 
wolves  than  sheep.  As  soon  as  they  clambered 
up  the  opposite  bank,  they  began  baaing  and 
feeding  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  happened. 
We  crossed  the  meadows  and  drove  slowly  up 
the  south  rim  of  the  valley  through  the  same 
woods  I  had  passed  on  my  way  to  Cathedral 
Peak,  and  camped  for  the  night  by  the  side 
of  a  small  pond  on  top  of  the  big  lateral 
moraine. 

September  10.  In  the  morning  at  daybreak 
not  one  of  the  two  thousand  sheep  was  in  sight. 
Examining  the  tracks,  we  discovered  that  they 
had  been  scattered,  perhaps  by  a  bear.  In  a 
few  hours  all  were  found  and  gathered  into  one 
flock  again.  Had  fine  view  of  a  deer.  How 
graceful  and  perfect  in  every  way  it  seemed  as 
compared  with  the  silly,  dusty,  tousled  sheep! 
From  the  high  ground  hereabouts  had  another 
grand  view  to  the  northward  —  a  heaving, 
swelling  sea  of  domes  and  round-backed  ridges 
fringed  with  pines,  and  bounded  by  innumer- 
able sharp-pointed  peaks,  gray  and  barren- 
looking,  though  so  full  of  beautiful  life.  An- 
other day  of  the  calm,  cloudless  kind,  purple  in 
the  morning  and  evening.  The  evening  glow 
256 


BACK  TO  THE  LOWLANDS 

has  been  very  marked  for  the  last  two  or  three 
weeks.   Perhaps  the  "zodiacal  light." 

September  11.  Cloudless.  Slight  frost.  Calm. 
Fairly  started  downhill,  and  now  are  camped 
at  the  west  end  meadows  of  Lake  Tenaya  —  a 
charming  place.  Lake  smooth  as  glass,  mirror- 
ing its  miles  of  glacier-polished  pavements  and 
bold  mountain  walls.  Find  aster  still  in  flower. 
Here  is  about  the  upper  limit  of  the  dwarf  form 
of  the  goldcup  oak,  —  eight  thousand  feet 
above  sea-level,  —  reaching  about  two  thou- 
sand feet  higher  than  the  California  black 
oak  {Qvercvs  Calif ornica).  Lovely  evening,  the 
lake  reflections  after  dark  marvelously  im- 
pressive. 

September  12.  Cloudless  day,  all  pure  sun- 
gold.  Among  the  magnificent  silver  firs  once 
more,  within  two  miles  of  the  brink  of  Yosem- 
ite,  at  the  famous  Portuguese  bear  camp. 
Chaparral  of  goldcup  oak,  manzanita,  and  cea- 
nothus  abundant  hereabouts,  wanting  about 
the  Tuolumne  meadows,  although  the  ele- 
vation is  but  little  higher  there.  The  two- 
leaved  pine,  though  far  more  abundant  about 
the  Tuolumne  meadow  region,  reaches  its 
greatest  size  on  stream-sides  hereabouts  and 
around  meadows  that  are  rather  boggy.  All 
the  best  dry  ground  is  taken  by  the  magnificent 
silver  fir,  which  here  reaches  its  greatest  size 
267 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

and  forms  a  well-defined  belt.  A  glorious  tree. 
Have  fine  bed  of  its  boughs  to-night. 

September  13.  Camp  this  evening  at  Yo- 
semite  Creek,  close  to  the  stream,  on  a  little 
sand  flat  near  our  old  camp-ground.  The  vege- 
tation is  already  brown  and  yellow  and  dry; 
the  creek  almost  dry  also.  The  slender  form  of 
the  two-leaved  pine  on  its  banks  is,  I  think,  the 
handsomest  I  have  anywhere  seen.  It  might 
easily  pass  at  first  sight  for  a  distinct  species, 
though  surely  only  a  variety  {Murray ana),  due 
to  crowded  and  rapid  growth  on  good  soil.  The 
yellow  pine  is  as  variable,  or  perhaps  more  so. 
The  form  here  and  a  thousand  feet  higher,  on 
crumbling  rocks,  is  broad  branching,  with 
closely  furrowed,  reddish  bark,  large  cones,  and 
long  leaves.  It  is  one  of  the  hardiest  of  pines, 
and  has  wonderful  vitality.  The  tassels  of  long, 
stout  needles  shining  silvery  in  the  sun,  when 
the  wind  is  blowing  them  all  in  the  same  di- 
rection, is  one  of  the  most  splendid  spectacles 
these  glorious  Sierra  forests  have  to  show.  This 
variety  of  Pinus  ponderosa  is  regarded  as  a  dis- 
tinct species,  Pinus  Jeffreyi,  by  some  botanists. 
The  basin  of  this  famous  Yosemite  stream  is 
extremely  rocky,  —  seems  fairly  to  be  paved 
with  domes  like  a  street  with  big  cobblestones. 
I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  allowed  to  explore  it. 
It  draws  me  so  strongly,  I  would  make  any 

258 


BACK  TO  THE  LOWLANDS 

sacrifice  to  try  to  read  its  IcFsons.  I  thank  God 
for  this  glimpse  of  it.  The  charms  of  these 
mountains  are  beyond  all  common  reason,  un- 
explainable  and  mysterious  as  life  itself. 

September  14.  Nearly  all  day  in  magnificent 
fir  forest,  the  top  branches  laden  with  superb 
erect  gray  cones  shining  with  beads  of  pure 
balsam.  The  squirrels  are  cutting  them  off  at  a 
great  rate.  Bump,  bump,  I  hear  them  falling, 
soon  to  be  gathered  and  stored  for  winter  bread. 
Those  that  chance  to  be  left  by  the  industrious 
harvesters  drop  the  scales  and  bracts  when 
fully  ripe,  and  it  is  fine  to  see  the  purple- 
winged  seeds  flying  in  swirling,  micrry-looking 
flocks  seeking  their  fortunes.  The  bole  and 
dead  limbs  of  nearly  every  tree  in  the  main 
forest-belt  are  ornamented  by  conspicuous 
tufts  and  strips  of  a  yellow  lichen. 

Camped  for  the  night  at  Cascade  Creek, 
near  the  Mono  Trail  crossing.  Manzanita  ber- 
ries now  ripe.  Cloudiness  to-day  about  .10. 
The  sunset  very  rich,  flaming  purple  and  crim- 
son showing  gloriously  through  the  aisles  of  the 
woods. 

September  15.  The  weather  pure  gold,  cloudi- 
ness about  .05,  white  cirrus  fleets  and  pencil- 
ings  around  the  horizon.  Move  two  or  three 
miles  and  camp  at  Tamarack  Flat.  Wander- 
ing in  the  woods  here  back  of  the  pines  which 
259 


MY  FIRST  SUMIVIER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

bound  the  meadows,  I  found  very  noble  speci- 
mens of  the  magnificent  silver  fir,  the  tallest 
about  two  hundred  and  forty  feet  high  and 
five  feet  in  diameter  four  feet  from  the  ground. 

September  16.  Crawled  slowly  four  or  five 
miles  to-day  through  the  glorious  forest  to 
Crane  Flat,  where  we  are  camped  for  the  night. 
The  forests  we  so  admired  in  summer  seem 
still  more  beautiful  and  sublime  in  this  mellow 
autumn  light.  Lovely  starry  night,  the  tall, 
spiring  tree- tops  relieved  in  jet  black  against 
the  sky.  I  linger  by  the  fire,  loath  to  go  to  bed. 

September  17.  Left  camp  early.  Ran  over 
the  Tuolumne  divide  and  down  a  few  miles  to 
a  grove  of  sequoias  that  I  had  heard  of,  di- 
rected by  the  Don.  They  occupy  an  area  of 
perhaps  less  than  a  hundred  acres.  Some  of  the 
trees  are  noble,  colossal  old  giants,  surrounded  by 
magnificent  sugar  pines  and  Douglas  spruces. 
The  perfect  specimens  not  burned  or  broken  are 
singularly  regular  and  symmetrical,  though  not 
at  all  conventional,  showing  infinite  variety  in 
general  unity  and  harmony;  the  noble  shafts 
with  rich  purplish  brown  fluted  bark,  free  of 
limbs  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  or  so,  orna- 
mented here  and  there  with  leafy  rosettes; 
main  branches  of  the  oldest  trees  very  large, 
crooked  and  rugged,  zigzagging  stiffly  outward 
seemingly  lawless,  yet  unexpectedly  stooping 
260 


BACK  TO  THE  LOWLANDS 

just  at  the  right  distance  from  the  trunk  and 
dissolving  in  dense  bossy  masses  of  branchlets, 
thus  making  a  regular  though  greatly  va- 
ried outline,  —  a  cylinder  of  leafy,  outbulging 
spray  masses,  terminating  in  a  noble  dome, 
that  may  be  recognized  while  yet  far  off  up- 
heaved against  the  sky  above  the  dark  bed  of 
pines  and  firs  and  spruces,  the  king  of  all 
conifers,  not  only  in  size  but  in  sublime  majesty 
of  behavior  and  port.  I  found  a  black,  charred 
stump  about  thirty  feet  in  diameter  and  eighty 
or  ninety  feet  high  —  a  venerable,  impressive 
old  monument  of  a  tree  that  in  its  prime  may 
have  been  the  monarch  of  the  grove;  seedlings 
and  saplings  growing  up  here  and  there,  thrifty 
and  hopeful,  giving  no  hint  of  the  dying  out  of 
the  species.  Not  any  unfavorable  change  of 
climate,  but  only  fire,  threatens  the  existence 
of  these  noblest  of  God's  trees.  Sorry  I  was  not 
able  to  get  a  count  of  the  old  monument's  an- 
nual rings. 

Camp  this  evening  at  Hazel  Green,  on  the 
broad  back  of  the  dividing  ridge  near  our  old 
camp-ground  when  we  were  on  the  way  up  the 
mountains  in  the  spring.  This  ridge  has  the 
finest  sugar-pine  groves  and  finest  manzanita 
and  ceanothus  thickets  I  have  yet  found  on  all 
this  wonderful  summer  journey. 

September  18.  Made  a  long  descent  on  the 
261 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

south  side  of  the  divide  to  Brown's  Flat,  the 
grand  forests  now  left  above  us,  though  the 
sugar  pine  still  flourishes  fairly  well,  and 
with  the  yellow  pine,  libocedrus,  and  Douglas 
spruce,  makes  forests  that  would  be  consid- 
ered most  wonderful  in  any  other  part  of  the 
world. 

The  Indians  here,  with  great  concern,  pointed 
to  an  old  garden  patch  on  the  flat  and  told  us 
to  keep  away  from  it.  Perhaps  some  of  their 
tribe  are  buried  here. 

September  19.  Camped  this  evening  at 
Smith's  Mill,  on  the  first  broad  mountain 
bench  or  plateau  reached  in  ascending  the 
range,  where  pines  grow  large  enough  for  good 
lumber.  Here  wheat,  apples,  peaches,  and 
grapes  grow,  and  we  were  treated  to  wine 
and  apples.  The  wine  I  did  n't  like,  but  Mr. 
Delaney  and  the  Indian  driver  and  the  shep- 
herd seemed  to  think  the  stuff  divine.  Com- 
pared to  sparkling  Sierra  water  fresh  from  the 
heavens,  it  seemed  a  dull,  muddy,  stupid  drink. 
But  the  apples,  best  of  fruits,  how  delicious 
they  were  —  fit  for  gods  or  men. 

On  the  way  down  from  Brown's  Flat  we 
stopped  at  Bower  Cave,  and  I  spent  an  hour  in 
it  —  one  of  the  most  novel  and  interesting  of 
all  Nature's  underground  mansions.  Plenty  of 
sunlight  pours  into  it  through  the  leaves  of  the 

262 


BACK  TO  THE  LOWLANDS 

four  maple  trees  grownnp;  in  its  mouth,  illumi- 
nating its  clear,  calm  pool  and  marble  chambers, 
—  a  charming  place,  ravishingly  beautiful,  but 
the  accessible  parts  of  the  walls  sadly  disfigured 
with  names  of  vandals. 

September  20.  The  weather  still  golden  and 
calm,  but  hot.  We  are  now  in  the  foot-hills, 
and  all  the  conifers  are  left  behind  except  the 
gray  Sabine  pine.  Camped  at  the  Dutch  Boy's 
Ranch,  where  there  are  extensive  barley  fields 
now  showing  nothing  save  dusty  stubble. 

September  2L  A  terribly  hot,  dusty,  sun- 
burned day,  and  as  nothing  was  to  be  gained 
by  loitering  where  the  flock  could  find  nothing 
to  eat  save  thorny  twigs  and  chaparral,  we 
made  a  long  drive,  and  before  sundo\\Ti  reached 
the  home  ranch  on  the  yellow  San  Joaquin 
plain. 

September  22.  The  sheep  were  let  out  of  the 
corral  one  by  one,  this  morning,  and  counted, 
and  strange  to  say,  after  all  their  adventur- 
ous wanderings  in  bewildering  rocks  and  brush 
and  streams,  scattered  by  bears,  poisoned 
by  azalea,  kalmia,  alkali,  all  are  accounted 
for.  Of  the  two  thousand  and  fifty  that  left 
the  corral  in  the  spring  lean  and  weak,  two 
thousand  and  twenty-five  have  returned  fat 
and  strong.  The  losses  are :  ten  killed  by  bears, 
one  by  a  rattlesnake,  one  that  had  to  be  killed 

263 


MY  FIRST  SUMMER  IN  THE  SIERRA 

after  it  had  broken  its  leg  on  a  boulder  slope, 
and  one  that  ran  away  in  blind  terror  on  being 
accidentally  separated  from  the  flock,  —  thir- 
teen all  told.  Of  the  other  twelve  doomed  never 
to  return,  three  were  sold  to  ranchmen  and  nine 
were  made  camp  mutton. 

Here  ends  my  forever  memorable  first  High 
Sierra  excursion.  I  have  crossed  the  Range  of 
Light,  surely  the  brightest  and  best  of  all  the 
Lord  has  built;  and  rejoicing  in  its  glory,  I 
gladly,  gratefully,  hopefully  pray  I  may  see  it 
again. 


THE   END 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Abies  concolor  and  magnifica. 

See  Fir,  silver. 
Abronia,  228. 
Adenosiema   faaciculata,    14, 

19,  20. 
Adiantum  Chilense,  17. 
Alpcnglow,  220. 
Alvord,  Gen.  Benjamin,  183, 

185,  186. 
Animals,  domestic,  afraid  of 

bears,  107,  108. 
Animals,  wild,  in  the  Merced 

Valley,  43;  clean,  18,  79; 

man-eaters,  211,  212. 
An  tone,  Portuguese  shepherd, 

209,  210. 
Ants,    8,    43-47;    bite    of, 

46. 
Ardoniys  monax.  See  Wood- 
chuck. 
Arctustaphylos  pungena.    See 

Manzanita. 
Avalanches,  216,  217. 
Azalea,  "sheep  poison,"  22. 
Azalea  occidentalis,  20. 

Baccharis,  20. 

Beans,  as  food,  81. 

Bear,  cinnamon,  adventure 
with,  134-37. 

Bear-hunting,  28-30. 

Bears,  favorite  feeding- 
grounds  of,  28,  29;  fond  of 
ants,  46;  fear  of,  107,  108; 
very  shy  in   Sierra,    108; 


raid  sheep  camps,  191,  192, 
194,  207,  209,  210,  211. 

Billy,  Mr.  Dclaney's  shep- 
herd, 6,  61,  62,  75,  80,  146, 
147;  his  everlasting  cloth- 
ing, 129,  130;  afraid  of 
bears,  191,  193;  quarrels 
with  Mr.  Dclaney,  205. 

Birds,  68,  96;  in  the  Merced 
Valley,  50,  65-67;  water 
ouzel,  106,  107,  223;  wrens, 
170;  on  Mount  Hoffman, 
173-77;  sparrows  on  Ca- 
thedral Peak,  251. 

Bloody  Caiion,  214;  origin  of 
name,  215. 

Bluebottle  fly,  139. 

Borer,  169. 

Boulders,  in  streams,  47-49; 
near  Tamarack  Creek,  100, 
101. 

Bower  Cascade,  224. 

Bower  Cave,  a  marble  palace, 
25,  26,  262,  263. 

Bread,  famine,  75-85;  ef- 
fects of  the  want  of,  76,  77; 
sheep-camp,  82,  83. 

Brodiira,  20. 

Brown,  David,  bear-hunter, 
27-30. 

Brown's  Flat,  25,  27,  262. 

Bryanthus,  purple-flowered, 
151,  161,  218. 

Buffalo  berries,  226. 

Butler,  ncnry,  189,  190. 


267 


INDEX 


Butler,  Prof.  J.  D.,  strange  ex- 
perience of  Muir  with,  178- 
91. 

Butterflies,  160. 

Calochortus  albua,  17. 

Camping,  in  the  foothills,  10, 
11;  on  the  North  Fork  of 
the  Merced,  32-74;  at 
Tamarack  Flat,  99;  in  the 
Yosemite,  122;  near  Soda 
Springs,  201,  229;  alone,  in 
Bloody  Canon,  220-22;  on 
the  Tuolumne,  232-53. 

Canon  Creek,  223. 

Carlo,  St.  Bernard  dog,  with 
Muir  in  the  Sierra,  5,  6,  43, 
67,  59,  60, 62, 123, 124, 154, 
181,  192,  193;  afraid  of 
bears,  116,  135;  runs  away, 
232,  233,  255. 

Cascade  Creek,  104,  259. 

Cassiope,  244,  250. 

Cathedral  Peak,  154, 212, 231, 
247,  250;  well  named,  146; 
a  majestic  temple,  198; 
view  from,  248;  height, 
249. 

Cedar,  incense  {lAbocedrus 
decurrens),  20,  21,  93. 

Chamcebatia  foliolosa,  33,  34. 

Chinaman,  shepherd's  helper, 
6,9. 

Chipmunk,  in  the  Sierra,  171, 
172. 

Cleavage  joints,  254. 

Clouds,  56,  73,  147,  148,  242, 
243;  sky  mountains,  18, 19, 
37,  39,  61,  133,  144,  145. 

Coffee,  82. 

Corylus  rostrata,  65. 

Coulterville,  9,  17,  19. 


Crane  Flat,  90,  92,  93,  260. 
Crows,  9,  248. 

Crystals,  radiant,  153,  250; 
frost,  234,  236. 

Daisy,  blue  arctic,  218. 

Deer,  black-tailed,  142. 

Delaney,  Mr.,  sheep-owner,  6, 
12,  25,  27,  36,  83,  103,  104, 
112-14, 194,  206,  233,  238, 
246,  254, 262;  engages  Muir 
to  go  with  his  flock  to 
the  Sierra,  4,  5;  describes 
David  Brown's  method  of 
bear-hunting,  28-30;  talks 
of  bears  in  general,  107, 
108;  a  big-hearted  Irish- 
man, 214. 

Dendromecon  rigidum,  39. 

Devil's  slides,  150. 

Dogwood,  Nuttall's  flowering, 
64. 

Dome  Creek,  121. 

Don  Quixote,  nickname  for 
Mr.  Delaney,  6,  12. 

Elymus  (wild  rye),  226. 
Emerald  Pool,  189. 
Eskimo,  69. 

Fawn,  baby,  232. 

Ferns,  40,  41. 

Fir,  silver,  90-93,  98,  105, 
257;  cones,  91,  167,  168, 
259;size,  143, 161,162, 166, 
260;  age,  166,  167;  leaves, 
167. 

Fire,  in  woods,  19,  202,  203. 

Fishes,  none  in  high  Sierra 
lakes,  200. 

Flicker,  173. 

Floods,  48. 


268 


INDEX 


Flowers,  in  Merced  Valley, 
33,  35,  36,  40,  58;  at  Crune 
Flat,  92,  93,  94;  on  Yosciu- 
ite  Crook,  109, 110;  on  Hoff- 
man RanRC,  151,  152,  15S, 
1()0,  191»;  in  Tuolumne 
Meadows,  199,  203;  in 
Bloody  Canon,  218,  224, 
225,  228,  230. 

Flowing,  everything  is,  230. 

Food,  of  bears,  28,  20,  4G, 
192;  of  squirrels,  18,  09,  74, 
168;  of  Indians,  12,  40,  70, 
226-28. 

Foothills,  3-31. 

Frogs,in  the  highest  lakes, 200. 

Frost,  cr>'stal8,  234,  236. 

Gallflies,  170. 

Glacial  action,  101,  102,  196, 

197,  200, 202, 203, 205,  208, 

215,  216,  224,  240,  248. 
Glacier  meadows,  229,  230. 
Gold   region,   55,   56;   mines 

near  Mono  Lake,  105. 
Grasshopper,  a  queer  fellow, 

130-41. 
Greeley's  Mill,  17,  20. 
Grouse,  blue  or  dusky,  175, 

176. 

Half-Dome,  or  South  Dome, 

117,  122,  129. 
Hare,  9. 

Hare,  little  chief,  154,  155. 
Hazel,  beaked,  65. 
Hazel  Creek,  89. 
Hazel  Green,  87,  261. 
Heat,  in  the  foothills,  8. 
Hemlock,    mountain    {Tauga 

Mertensiana),  151,  247. 
Eogs,  108. 


Horseshoe  Bend,  13,  19. 
Ilouise-fly,  on  North   Dome, 

138,    139;  on  Mount  HofT- 

man,  169. 
Hutchings,    Mrs.,    landlady, 

182. 

Illilouette,  189. 

Indian  Ha.sin,  121. 

Indian  Cafton,  115,  122,  181, 
186,  187. 

Indian  Creek,  208. 

Indians,  Digger,  12,  30,  31, 
202;  shepherd's  helper  with 
Muir,  6,  9,  10,  80,  90;  ant- 
eaters,  46;  their  power  of 
escaping  observation,  53, 
54,  58;  an  old  woman,  58, 
59;  Chief  Tenaya,  165;  a 
hunter,  205,  206;  food, 
206,  226,  227;  a  dirty  band, 
218,  219;  women  gathering 
wild  rye,  226. 

Ivy,  poison,  26. 

Jack,    the    shepherd's    little 

dog,  62,  63. 
Joe,  Portuguese  shepherd,209, 

210. 
Juniper,    Sierra     {Juniperus 

occidentalia),  110,  163-65. 

Lake  Hoffman,  154. 

Lake  Tenaya,  153,  155,  165, 
195-97,  257;  Indian  name, 
166. 

Landscape,  sculpture  of,  14; 
a  glorious,  115,  116;  fea- 
tures hnnnonious,  240,  254. 

Liberty  Cap,  183. 

Lihocedrus  decurrena.  See  Ce- 
dar, incense. 


269 


INDEX 


Lichens,  259. 
Lightning,  15,  124,  125. 
Lilies,  36,  37,  59,  60,  225. 
Lilium  pardalinum,  37. 
Lilium  parvum,  94,  95,  121. 
Lily,  twining,  50;  on  poison 

ivy,  26. 
Lily,  Washington,  103. 
Linosyris,  20. 
Lizards,  8,  41-43,  65. 

Magpies,  9. 

Mammoth  Mountain,216,242. 

Manzanita    (Ardostaphylos) , 

88,  89;  berries,  259. 
Meadows,  three  kinds  of,  158, 

159;  glacier,  229,  230. 
Merced   River,    189;    North 

Forkof,25;  camp  on,  32-74. 
Merced  Valley,  13,  115. 
Mono  Desert,  226. 
Mono  Lake,  214,  226,  239; 

flowers  around,  228. 
Mono  Trail,   104,   109,   115, 

195-213. 
Moon,  startling  effect  of,  221, 

222. 
Moraine  Lake,  224,  225. 
Moraines,  102,  216,  224,  240, 

248. 
Mosquitoes,  Sierra,  169. 
Mount  Dana,  199,  230,  233, 

234,  239,  242. 
Mount  Gibbs,  199,  242. 
Mount  Hoffman,  230;  height 

of,    149;    watershed,    150; 

flowers,  151,  152,  158,  160; 

hemlocks  and  pines,   151, 

152;  crystals,  153;  strange 

dove-colored  bird,  176. 
Mount  Lyell,  198,  253. 
Mutton,  exclusive  diet  of,  76. 


Neotoma,  71-73. 
Nevada  Caiion,  182. 
Nevada  Fall,  187,  188,  207. 
North  Dome,131, 134;  strange 
experience  on,  178,  179. 

Oak,  blue  {Quercus  Douglasii) , 

8,  15. 
Oak,Canfornia  black  (Qiiercua 

Calijornica),  15,  257. 
Oak,  dwarf  {Quercus  chryso- 

lepis),  161. 
Oak,  goldcup,  50,  187,  257. 
Oak,  mountain  live,  38. 
Oak,  poison,  26. 
Oreortyx  ricta,  174,  175. 

Pictures,  inadequate,  131. 

Pika,  154,  155. 

Pilot  Peak  Ridge,  32,  57,  65, 

67,  84. 
Pine,  dwarf  {Pinus  alhicavlis) , 

152,  248;  as  fuel,  221. 
Pine,  mountain  {Pinus  mon- 

ticola),  152. 
Pine,    Sabine,    12,    13,    263; 

cones,  12. 
Pine,  silver,  52. 
Pine,  sugar,  17, 18,  51,  88,  90, 

93;  cones,  50. 
Pine,  two-leaved  or  tamarack, 

99,110,162,163,257,258. 
Pine,  yellow,  15,  51,  52,  88, 

93,  258;  cones,  17,  18. 
Pino  Blanco,  13. 
Poppy,    bush    {Dendromecon 

rigidum),  39. 
Porcupine  Creek,  121,  206. 
Portuguese    shepherds,    206, 

207,  208-10. 
Psevdotsuga  Douglasii,  93. 
Pteris  aguilina,  40,  41. 


270 


INDEX 


Quail,     mountain     {Oreortyx 

ricta),  174,  175. 
Quails,  9. 

Quercus  CaXifomica,  15,  257. 
Quercus  chryaokpis,  IGl. 
Quercus  Douglwsii,  8,  15. 

Rabbita,  cottontail,  9,  227. 
lliiindrop,    history    of,    125- 

27. 
Range  of  Light,  236,  264. 
Rat,    wood    (Neoloma),   71- 

73. 
Rattlesnakes,  9;  dog  bitten  by 

one,  03. 
Rhus    diversiloba.     See    Ivy, 

poison. 
Robin,  173,  174,  218. 
Rye,  wild,  226. 

Sandv,  David  Brown's  dog, 
27,"  28,  30. 

Saxifrage,  giant  (Saxifraga 
peltala),  35. 

Sedge,  34,  35. 

Seeds,  68. 

Sequoia  gigantea,  93;  grove  of, 
260,  261. 

Shadows,  of  leaves,  59;  sub- 
stantial looking,  233. 

Sheep,  Mr.  Delaney's  flock, 
5,  8,  9,  11,  61,  64,  86,  87, 
256, 263, 264 ;  rate  of  travel, 
7;  camping,  10;  poisoned  by 
azalea,  22;  profitable,  22; 
hoofed  locusts,  56, 86;  stray, 
57;  dcstructiveness  of,  97, 
195;  crossing  a  creek,  111- 
14;  have  poor  brain  stuff, 
114;  raided  by  boars,  191, 
192,  104;  afraid  of  getting 
wet,  201,  202,  255. 


Shepherd,  degrading  life  of 
the  Californian,  23;  in  Scot- 
land, 24;  the  oriental,  24; 
bed  and  food,  SO,  81. 

Slate,  metamorphic,  6,  8,  14, 
34. 

Smith's  Mill,  262. 

Soda  Springs,  201,  229,  253. 

South  Dome,  122,  129. 

Sparrows,  251. 

Spiders,  53. 

Spruce,  Douglas,  93. 

Squirrel,  California  gray,  69, 
70. 

Squirrel,  Douglas,  18,  68-70, 
96,  168. 

Strupholirion  Califomicum. 
See  Lily,  twining. 

Sunrise,  in  the  Yosemite,  124. 

Sunset,  53. 

Tamarack  Creek,   100,   102, 

106. 
Tamarack  Flat,  90,  259. 
Tea,  80,  82. 
Telepathy,   strange   case   of, 

178-91. 
Tenaya,  Yosemite  chief,  165. 
Tenaya  Creek,  156. 
Three  Brothers,  207. 
Thunder,  in  the  mountains, 

122,  123,  125. 
Tissiack.    See  Half-Dome. 
Tourists,  98,  104,  190. 
Trees  and  storm,  144. 
Tuolumne  Camp,  232-53. 
Tuolumne     Meadows,     198, 

199. 

Vaccinium,  dwarf,  218. 
Vcratrum    CalifurnicuTn,    93, 
94. 


271 


INDEX 


Vernal  FaU,  182, 183, 187, 188, 

207. 
Volcanic  cones,  228. 

Water,  music  of,  21,  49,  97, 

106. 
Waterfalls,  34,  36,  47,  106, 

118-20,  132,  187,  188,  223, 

224. 
Water  ouzel,  106,  107,  223. 
Way  cup,  173. 
Weather,  in  the  mountains, 

36,  39,  56,  61,  67,  73,  235, 

237,  241,  245. 
Willow,  dwarf,  217. 


Wind,  at  night,  21,  220. 
Woodchuck     {Arctomys   mO' 

nax),  154,  172,  173. 
Wrens,  story  of  a  pair,  170. 

Yosemite  Creek,  104,  107, 
109,  118,  150,  154,  258. 

Yosemite  Valley,  102,  104, 
106,  107,  115-48,  187;  a 
nerve-trying  experience  in, 
118-20;  sunrise  in,  124; 
thunder  storm,  124,  125; 
grandeur,  132,  133,  190. 

Zodiacal  light,  257. 


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